Special K
by Brine224
Summary: Post S2 Finale begins pretty much right after the final scene. Note: all characters invovled and just so you know where the title came from... Special K aka Ketamine
1. Chapter 1

**Special K**

**Author**: JD

**Disclaimer**: Not mine….obviously but I will kindly borrow them for the duration of his musing of mine.

**Rating**: Could change but K+ for now

**Spoilers**: Post No Reason (Season 2 Finale)

**Summary**: What happens pretty much directly after the final scene and why exactly House told Cameron to tell Cuddy about giving him Ketamine.

Reviews are always welcome.

**HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH**

Part 1:

Dr. Lisa Cuddy did not remember the corridor of the Emergency Room to be quite as long during previous visits as it was on that fateful morning.

Her shoes had an ankle strap.

It was an absurd thought to have at that particular moment but as she lengthened her stride in order to move more rapidly down the stark white hallway she was suddenly thankful for choosing the shoes - for she had enough to worry over without risking a torn tendon in her ankle.

"Where is he?" she asked the admitting desk, her eyes wide with urgency.

The 'he' she was referencing was easy enough to deduce and the woman quickly replied "They're prepping to take him to surgery right now. He's stable" she added, hoping to reassure the Dean that she wasn't going to lose one of her doctors.

Cuddy graced the woman with a grateful nod before once more taking off in the direction of the back of the ER. She saw his team first. They were helping the nurses transfer the patient's IV and heart monitor to a portable source in order to be able to move him upstairs. As they turned the gurney toward the elevators at the back of Emerge she caught a glimpse of him.

One glimpse was all she was given – all that she could take.

"What that hell happened!" Her voice rose in volume in an attempt to mask the frantic edge of her tone.

"First shot through and through to the right mid abdomen, likely impacted the liver second was through and through to the carotid artery." Foreman announced succinctly.

"The guy just walked into the office and shot him." Chase divulged, his pallor paling as he recalled the event from moments before. "Said he was a former patient or something."

"He's lost a lot of blood" Cameron spoke softly, her eyes downcast as they followed the path of the hospital bed into the elevator.

Cuddy shot Cameron a look of thinly veiled contempt for voicing her pessimistic observations. When word had reached her of the shooting and the sole victim she hadn't entertained the possibility that House wouldn't survive. He was shot in a hospital – her hospital – the only outcome she could foresee was his survival. Perhaps it was naiveté or perhaps it was self-preservation fueling that assured thought whatever her motivation, she would do everything in her power to ensure its reality.

"He said to tell you to give him Ketamine." Cameron spoke suddenly, breaking through the harried thoughts of her boss.

"What?" Cuddy shook her in order to focus her mind back on the woman next her.

"He regained consciousness momentarily when we were wheeling him into the ER; he said to tell you to have them give him Ketamine" Cameron reiterated. "Do you have any idea what he's talking about?" Her tone was undercut with a hint of jealously that even the dire situation could not dissolve.

Realization dawned in Cuddy's dark blue orbs and she took a deep breath as the information trickled through her neural pathways. Without a word Cuddy made a dash for the elevator that had taken House upstairs for surgery – three intrigued doctors doing their best to keep up with the slight woman's determined gait hot on her heels.

"Alright, where're we going?" Chase shot a worried glance toward Foreman at Cuddy's agitated state.

"Why would House specifically request Ketamine to put him out? This isn't a minor surgery he's having and unless he's looking forward to riding the magic carpet and having a conversation with God it doesn't make much sense; only House could think of getting high after getting shot. Ketamine's half life is only two and a half hours; they'd have to administer a dose high enough to comatose him in order to do the surgery." Foreman wondered aloud, not truly expecting an explanation from the administrator.

"The Ketamine would act on the pain receptors as an analgesic; if there's pain he wouldn't experience any of the psychotropic effects." Chase added.

"But it's still a glutamate inhibitor" Foreman pointed out. "The drug's activity in the prefrontal cortex mimics a severe schizophrenic episode; with the possible increase in circulation associated with Ketamine he could become disoriented and violent on the operating table and end up bleeding out."

The elevator dinged and opened on the forth floor; Cuddy was already squeezing between the heavy metal doors before they opened fully. She knew that the longer she had to mull over the information the less confident she would become at the order she was about to give the anesthesiologist.

"They just wheeled him into an OR." Wilson caught her, coming from the opposite direction, having bypassed the ER and gone directly to the OR floor.

"Who's the anesthesiologist?" Cuddy asked in a rush of an expelling breath.

"Carroll." Wilson's brow furrowed at the administrator's unusual state of distress. "What's going on?"

Cuddy picked up the phone at the nurses' station, calling into the OR. "It's Dr. Cuddy. I need to speak to Dr. Carroll right away" she paused as she listened to the other end. "I realize that; it's with regard to Dr. House's care." She hung up and shared a word with one of the nurses before turning her attention to the OR door swinging open.

"What's this all about Dr. Cuddy? We can't wait much longer to put House under; he's lost too much blood and might not remain stable." Dr. Carroll, a small and painfully thin balding man approached his boss and the four doctors standing at her back.

"Put him under with Ketamine." She ordered bluntly.

"The surgery will take too long. I can't use Ketamine. O.5mg will barely affect him; he'd wake up in the middle of the operation if he even lost total consciousness at all." Carroll huffed in exasperation, miffed at having someone tell him how to do his job despite that someone being his boss.

"That's why you have to give him 8mg." Cuddy announced resolutely drawing incredulous stares from all angles.

"That'll comatose him. There could be irreparable damage done to his hippocampus and prefrontal cortex." Carroll warned harshly.

"It's what he wants." Cuddy tossed back.

"Cuddy, he's unconscious. He can't want anything right now." Wilson interrupted.

"He told Cameron to tell me to give him Ketamine." She informed Wilson, setting her shoulders.

"He was out of his mind! More than usual!" Wilson argued. "He had just been shot!"

"He could end up never waking up from a dosage that high; it's over sixteen times the therapeutic dose." Dr. Carroll lowered his voice as though talking down a jumper off a ledge.

"Don't patronize me Carroll!" Cuddy sniped. "I have the same initials after my name that you do." She turned to Wilson once more. "House and I have talked about this; there are trials being done in Germany that show promise for pain management and the regeneration of damaged neural receptors."

"I'm sorry Dr. Cuddy. I can't administer the anesthetic without the patient's consent. We're talking about memory loss and thought distortion that could plague him the rest of his life." Carroll shook his head.

"You have my consent." An eerie calm overtook Cuddy as tension bled from her limbs, knowing that she had won this fight.

"You can't make a decision like that just because you run this hospital." Cameron argued hotly. "It's not your call to endanger someone's life because you want to make a name for yourself."

"It is my call. I hold Greg's medical proxy." Cuddy didn't notice the slip of House's first name from her lips or the further surprise from all those standing with her; instead she was focused on the nurse who was approaching them. "Here" she took a clipboard from the nurse and scribbled her name a few times "now you have consent to use the Ketamine." She handed Carroll the papers.

After glancing at them quickly he sighed, "I hope you know what you're doing." With resignation he turned and headed back into the operating room.

"What the hell was that all about?" Wilson voiced the question on everyone's mind.

"I'll be in my office. Would you please inform me when Dr. House gets out of surgery." Cuddy addressed the nurse at the OR station, making it clear that the query she posed was in fact an order. And with that she turned about headed back to her office nestled within the Clinic walls.

_TBC_ - if you guys think I should – definitely have more.


	2. Chapter 2

See first post for disclaimer.

**AN:** First off I wanted to say to everyone how astounded I was and truly grateful for all the wonderful encouragement and reviews. I was blown away by the response and don't know how I could ever thank you enough. As for the next part….I know that House was supposedly shot in the stomach but from what I saw in the episode it appeared to have hit the liver or at least so all my anatomy texts would suggest…so I worked around the episode's info and my thoughts….also if Cuddy's doing IVF the twice a day treatments she would need would be for a week so I'm fixing that too lol.

**Part 2**

The Public Relations department was finally doing what she paid them for. Of course, spin control of a dangerous event occurring in a hospital when the population was already paranoid was no easy feat. And the hospital couldn't afford for any benefactors to pull their donations – the budget was tight enough already.

Cuddy took a generous gulp of her tea, having foregone coffee to avoid exacerbating her anxious jitters. She looked through the outer doors of her office and into the near empty clinic. House would have been pleased at the lack of patients needing to be seen – but then she would have willingly let him out of clinic duty for a month if it meant being able to rewind the day's events thus far.

The phone chirped from the corner of her desk as it had been every minute since she had arrived back from the OR waiting room; she drew in a deep breath in order to calm her tempered thoughts and picked up the extension.

"Lisa Cuddy." She announced with pristine professionalism.

Her fingers flexed around her tea mug as she leant an ear to the conversation. "What was Dr. Chang's prognosis?"

Movement in the outer office caught her sharp blue gaze; she trembled as fear flamed in the pit of her stomach when Wilson pushed through her inner office sanctuary. His hands tucked into the pockets on either side of his white lab coat, remaining silent until she completed the call.

"I want him out of this hospital as soon as he's stable." She spoke evenly into the receiver. "Take him to Princeton General or better yet the Riker's Island Infirmary, I don't care I just want him out of my hospital as quickly as possible." There was a moment of silence as she listened to the other end. "I'll deal with that." She replied finally and dropped the phone back into the cradle.

"Are we denying patients treatment now?" Wilson raised an eyebrow.

"The shooter." Cuddy said by way of explanation. "He's a legal liability if he stays in this hospital – I can't risk him claiming his treatment was compromised because he woke up one morning and decided to fire two rounds into one of my doctors. In my hospital!"

Cuddy conveniently refrained from elaborating that she wanted the shooter moved in order to avoid the legal fallout if she happened across him. She gave a mental snicker thinking that the hospital wouldn't gain anything from the homicide charge that would result should she be in close proximity to the man.

"Surgery's done." Wilson paused next to the office chairs, weighing whether to take a seat or not.

"Prognosis?"

"They stitched up the carotid artery – other than a scar there shouldn't be any lasting damage. The other wound wasn't as simple" he sighed, sitting heavily.

"I thought it was a through and through." Cuddy frowned.

"It went in through the liver and hit the costal cartilage of the rib where it was redirected and perforated the stomach – that's where it exited. The ICU's going to monitor the sutures to ensure there's no internal bleed but otherwise everything went smoothly." He assessed his boss with a steady gaze.

Cuddy made careful note that Wilson didn't say that House would be fine. He had a rule about giving patients or relatives platitudes and the truth was that although the bullet wounds would heal neither of them could state definitively that House would in fact be 'fine'.

"He'll be in the chemical coma for another forty-eight hours or so." Wilson brushed up against the topic cautiously.

"I can see you're dying to comment; go ahead, I'm listening." Cuddy leaned her elbows on her desk, folding her hands and resting her chin on top of them.

"I'm not going to insult your intelligence; I know that you're aware of how dangerous that dosage of Ketamine can be…. of the neurological damage that can result. What I can't figure out is what possessed you to do it?" Wilson set his mouth in a grim line.

"I told you, it's what he wanted." She shrugged with an ease she wasn't feeling.

"But you went out of your way to ensure that he was given the drug, a drug that you wouldn't normally risk administering. It makes me wonder if you weren't motivated by something other than his wishes."

"I'm not in the mood to dance right now – get to your point." She rubbed her eyes, elbows remaining on the wooden desk surface.

"I'm worried that your decision was rooted in guilt." He tipped his head slightly, considering her.

Cuddy dropped her arms into her lap, leaning back in her chair as though the other doctor had stuck a physical blow.

"You went against his wishes years ago when Stacy told you to go ahead with the surgery. I know that this gave you the chance to make right what you did then and I know that the second you got the call that he'd been shot you thought up every possible way this could've been your fault, from the hospital's security budget to having him scheduled to work at that particular time."

"Does it really matter what made me more inclined to do what he asked?" Cuddy narrowed her eyes minutely. "Whether I agreed with his choice doesn't change the fact that he specifically asked for the drug. It's over now, the drug's been administered, there's no point in dissecting my motivations" she stated sternly, brokering no room for further discussion of the topic.

Wilson nodded and rose from his seat; as he headed for the door he paused to give Cuddy a side-long glance. "One more thing, he didn't say anything to me about the trials being done or even that he was researching treatments for his pain – how'd you know about it."

A shadow swept over her features but vanished almost as rapidly as it had appeared. "I saw the information on his desk and asked him about it" she answered easily.

It was a lie.

She knew.

And so did he.

"Hmm" Wilson hummed. "Well, I've got patients to see." He offered her a cordial inclination of his head and left the office.

_**2 weeks earlier**_

_Twice daily shots. It was convenient on the days both she and House were working but today was not one of those days and while his home was on the opposite side of town from her own, she would make the trip without protest if it meant maintaining her secrecy from anyone else at the hospital._

_She had called ahead and informed his answering machine that she would be by so she was annoyed when her knock on his door went unanswered. Rolling her eyes skyward she resisted the urge to bang her head against the heavy piece of wood standing in her way – the irony was not lost on her that the entire situation was a representation of her relationship with House._

"_House, open the door" she called. "I know you're here, your bike's outside and I doubt you decided to go for a walk" she snickered, laying her hand on the brass handle. The door gave way under the pressure of her grip, letting her into the residence. "House?" Her tone was uncertain, searching the vicinity for her would-be host._

_It was then she heard the water running at the back of the house. Cuddy gaffed incredulously; he was taking a shower. "Wonderful." She muttered to herself, plopping down on the large leather couch in the living room to wait._

_She crossed her legs, smoothing out her skirt and perusing the coffee table littered with books and medical journals in various languages. A string of foreign words caught her attention and she reached out for the article. Her German was rusty but she was able to pick her way through the article with what she could remember and the medical terms she recognized; the notes House had scribbled in the margins intrigued her further._

_Her compulsive tendencies prompted her to gather the books and replace them on his cluttered book shelves and pile the medical journals according to date. Beneath the latter reading materials she found a gray lock box, ajar due to the rubber tourniquet hanging over the side. She lifted the lid, intending only to shove the offending item inside the box and close it properly; however, upon opening it she was stopped cold from any further action._

_Inside the lock box, organized with obvious thoughtfulness, were a handful of syringes and two vials of morphine – and the box had been sitting out as though recently used._

"_You just can't help yourself can you?" House's voice startled her as he hobbled into the living room in his sweat pants, t-shirt and damp hair._

"_What?" She turned quickly as though she had been caught doing something illegal._

"_You're such a control freak – I bet you go home every night and check to see that all your mirrors and pictures are level." _

"_If you hadn't of left me to occupy myself while you took a shower, after I told you I was coming, I would have left you to your mess. But do you want to explain to me why you have morphine out and ready to use?" She swept her hand toward the box._

"_Would you believe it if I told you I love treating patients so much that I've been having them come to my home?" He moved further into the room, unaffected by her accusing stare._

"_You don't have any idea how much I want that to be the truth. And not because I want you to actually like treating patients." Cuddy sighed. "I thought you were handling your pain after I gave you the placebo. The Vicodin should be enough to take care of whatever pain you're having – morphine's extreme, even for you." She remained standing between the couch and the coffee table; her purpose for being at his home in the first place, no longer her primary concern._

_House tipped his head back and looked at his ceiling. "Is this the part where you appeal to my sense of duty to the hospital because if it will save me one of your administrative lectures I'm telling you right now that I don't feel any sense of duty." _

"_No." Cuddy shook her head and pulled her own readied syringe from her purse. "They're your veins; you can shoot them full of whatever you want. There's nothing I can do to stop you but you should know that if I find out that you've even glanced at a patient file after getting high you'll no longer be employed." She strode behind the sofa where House stood and handed him the alcohol swab and needle._

"_Oh God, please tell me you're not following Cameron on her passive negotiating kick." He responded to her lack of reaction to the morphine._

"_Despite evidence to the contrary, you're not five years old; it doesn't matter what I say, you're going to do what you want to – so why would I waste my energy?" Turning her back to him, she hiked up one side of her A-line skirt._

_House was distracted. Not by the creamy expanse of skin bared to him but by Cuddy's dismissal of the morphine he had been contemplating all week. It had been sitting on his coffee table, a veritable wasteland in the war he was waging over whether to take the drug or not; thus far he had opted for not but with each passing day his balance on the precipice that was his good judgment was more precarious._

_As he disinfected the muscular flesh under hand Cuddy spoke once more, "That study in Germany on Ketamine induced comas looks interesting." House stabbed her with the syringe, injecting the Metrodin intramuscularly._

"_You read German now." House commented dryly._

"_I've always read German. Just because you're a military brat doesn't mean you have the monopoly on foreign languages. By the way the emphasis is on the brat part." She deadpanned._

"_Yeah, got that one" he scowled. "Your wit's suffering; I think it's all the hormones. You're losing your edge Cuddy." _

"_Are you really contemplating the therapy?" She dropped her skirt back down and turned to face him, surprised at their close proximity. _

"_I know the cane fills your day with lots of little sexual thrills but it's annoying to always have to lug it around." He said humorlessly. _

"_Even without the pain you'd still be reliant on the cane a lot of the time. Ketamine's not going to re-grow you a new quad." She subconsciously held her breath, waiting for him to make a comment about her role in mangling his leg but he didn't utter a word, so she pressed on. "You could lose your ability to practice medicine if you tried Ketamine; lose huge chunks of memory, your personality could be drastically altered." _

_He released a snort. "That would be a shame. I might lose my Mr. Congeniality title."_

"_I'm just saying that historically speaking Ketamine-"_

"_I know all that" he interrupted. "In your medical opinion, what does it tell you that I know all the risks and am still willing to try this?" he sobered, all traces of sarcasm gone from his tone._

_Cuddy considered his question with the seriousness with which he had delivered it. "Either that you're losing your mind or the pain has gotten worse." She answered honestly then dropped her eyes and sighed. "And it's likely a combination of both."_

_It was a rare moment for them; a time when both understood the other's motives, logic and inevitable choices. House had been supportive in his own way of her decision to have a child and now she had the opportunity to return the favour; if he ultimately decided the Ketamine therapy was something he needed to do, she would support him as well._

_After all, that's what friends did for one another._

_And though dusty and poorly maintained through years of neglect, their friendship sat on a shelf somewhere waiting to be revisited. _

_She gave her head one affirmative shake, letting him know he had her support. "Do me a favour though," she laid a hand on the exposed skin of his forearm in order to ensure his full attention "let me take the morphine with me tonight and if you want to try the Ketamine therapy I'll make the arrangements for you." _

"_You're so wasted in medicine." He smirked. "You should have gone into business with those negotiating skills or at the very least professional dancing; you could definitely rock a pole dance with that body." His eyebrows rose and fell in mocking jest._

"_Yeah, damage to your personality would be a huge loss to society." She shook her head in exasperation. _

_**Present**_

She had stayed late into the evening watching a movie and arguing epidemiological processes with him. That night marked the beginning of something – she wasn't sure what and the dangers of the procedure she had consented to could mean she'd never have the opportunity to find out.

**HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH**

Chase and Foreman were seated in House's office with the most recent patient file open in front of them. Their usual staff room was quartered off by caution tape as the sight of crime and in need of the cleaning staff. Cameron had elected to stay in the OR waiting room for a while but had since disappeared; all three had changed from their blood stained clothes into scrubs at the urgency of Wilson.

"We could revisit anaphylaxis." Chase tossed his pen down in frustration,

"I think we should try to exhaust all other possibilities before we go back to an allergy. It could be acute Glossitis. We should check for local infection." Foreman suggested.

The glass office door squeaked as it opened under Cameron's hand. "What are you doing?" Her lips puckered in an angry pout at her two male colleagues.

Foreman raised an eyebrow and expelled a sharp breath. "Uh…our job."

"What else could he have that would manifest itself as a swollen tongue? Cancer?" Chase ignored Cameron's question, recognizing she was agitated.

"House was just shot!" She sounded off.

"Great powers of deduction doctor" Foreman stared at her in disbelief "what does that have to do with the patient we're currently trying to diagnose?"

"You're just going to act like it didn't happen?" She glowered.

"Oh no, it happened." Chase widened his eyes in remembrance and leaned back in order to be able to see Cameron's face. "But he's post-op right now; there isn't anything we can do and House would want us to figure out what wrong with the patient."

"What about what Cuddy did to him. Shouldn't we speak to the medical review board about it?" She dropped into an available seat, her agitation mollified somewhat.

"Dr. Cuddy didn't do anything to him" Chase frowned. "You said yourself that House wanted her to make sure he was put out with Ketamine."

"He was in pain – he wasn't thinking rationally." Cameron argued.

"Cuddy didn't do anything medically unethical. She served as House's medical proxy and consented to a dangerous procedure that the patient wanted. And even if he didn't want Ketamine, he trusted her enough to make the choice for him….that's why they call it medical proxy." Foreman shook his head, annoyed at the theatrics.

"But the danger was unwarranted. She's using him to test a theory that's still in the trail phases. She's never so radical with patient care – this was just so…."

"This was just so much like something House would do." Foreman spoke slowly and deliberately to get his point across. "Cuddy wouldn't normally do something so rash but her consenting to the drug use proves that she was acting out House's wishes."

"House doesn't do anything without a reason – which means he would have anticipated Cuddy's decision if anything like this were to happen." Chase agreed.

"I just don't get it – why Cuddy? They don't even get along." Cameron frowned at the thought while Foreman and Chase shared a shrug.

"Why does the guy do anything he does?" Foreman picked up the patient file again. "But I can tell you one thing, if we don't figure out what's wrong with our patient House is going to make our lives more miserable than usual when he wakes up."

**HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH**

At five-thirty in the morning the hallways of Princeton-Plainsboro hospital were morosely quiet. There was no calm in a still hospital; it spoke of the aftermath of a storm, a storm that too often brought its warriors to rest for eternity. That particular morning the soundtrack of the ICU was accompanied by a staccato beat of authoritative heels moving at two-four time until they ceased suddenly.

Lisa Cuddy halted off balance at House's bedside, her hands reaching out to grasp the rail in order to keep herself from tipping over.

She didn't have to check his chart to know how he was doing, she had been checking up on him every hour since he left the operating room – though never personally. Avoiding him the day before didn't make much sense she decided, as she gazed down at his muted form in the early morning hours.

"So I've been thinking…." She started speaking, her husky voice cracking with fatigue "about picking a donor I like. Not sure about like but I was thinking that I can tolerate you and maybe you'd be willing to do it." She smiled and rolled her eyes at the pathetic nature of the one sided conversation. "I'm sure you have reams of reasons for not procreating, and just because you like to be a pain in my butt, I know you're smirking at the pun somewhere in that head of yours so stop. Anyway, because you're you, your reasons are probably perfectly valid." She furrowed her brow and cast a gentle hand through his hair. "Which is why I'll never ask you when you can actually answer me."

She sat with him in silence for a while, watching the sun rise outside his window before rising to go to her own office to start the day. "Wake up soon." She willed. "And when you do, make sure you're in full working order. I've already got my plate full with this baby thing; I don't have time to find a replacement for you." She squeezed his hand to let him know she was joking before striding out of the ICU, her heels once more adding to the song playing throughout the ward.

_TBC_

Please R&R if you get the chance.


	3. Chapter 3

See first post for disclaimer.

**IMPORTANT:** This chapter and the content is not meant to offend any religious beliefs, please take the writings in the jesting context they were intended. It is well documented within clinical trials that people who have taken Ketamine, hallucinate a conversation with God. This particular chapter was inspired by **_Sam Roberts' Taj Mahal_**….if you can listen to that while you read the last part it's awesome lol. On another note, this chapter was altered a little as one reviewer asked for more Wilson. Thanks once more for all the reviews. It's definitely inspiring!

**Part 3**

"Herpies Simplex 1. Who would have thought the guy would get a cold sore on his tongue." Foreman strolled into House's office with Chase and Cameron on his heels.

"Yeah but to get a bacterial infection in the open wound and then have it swell up like that! You'd think somebody had it out for the poor guy." Chase shook his head to move the hair from his eyes and dropped the patient file on the glass desk.

"So now what are we supposed to do?" Cameron folded her arms and leaned against the bookcase. "We have no outstanding patients and no tests to run."

"Did I just hear you say you have no patients?" Wilson stood holding the door open, unsure whether he was coming or going.

"That's right." Chase nodded.

"House has obviously taught you more than he realizes." Wilson sighed. "Go see Cuddy and ask her what she wants you to do, otherwise you three can go to the chemo floor and hold the patient's hands while they vomit." He shrugged, knowing that Cameron may find that particular choice appealing.

Chase and Foreman resigned themselves to speaking to Cuddy and headed for the hallway, exchanging a look when Cameron lagged behind.

"You're friends with House. Why didn't he have you down as his proxy?" She asked boldly.

"I'm nicer to him but Cuddy's known him longer" Wilson quirked an eyebrow. "He doesn't like being mad at me cause then he has no one to complain to but if he's mad at Cuddy or annoyed with a decision she makes he can rant all he wants in my company." Wilson expounded for her as though it was the simple answer to be had.

"But what if he's not around to complain?" She ventured, her hands clutched together in front of her.

"Now you're being over dramatic. Cuddy takes calculated risks, that's why she was a good doctor and it's why she's a good administrator and I doubt this is any different." He reached out and placed a hand on Cameron's shoulder. "Listen, let's just wait and see what happens and try not to worry over Cuddy's choice – she did exactly what House wanted her to." He watched Cameron leave the office, unsure that she would in fact let the matter drop.

**OOxxxOO**

Princeton's main campus was still bustling with student activity despite the regular school term being complete. Undergrads remained to attend spring and summer classes and post-grads took the time to add to their research credit. Winding her way through the blossoming trees Cuddy recalled her own years at Michigan; the stress and rush of final exams tempered somewhat by the longer sun filled days and fewer layers of clothing one was forced to wrap themselves in.

A few students on the front lawns smiled at her politely as she passed, likely a gesture of respect on the off chance she was one of their future professors – she doubted anyone would recognized her or the esteemed position she held on campus if she weren't standing next to her photo in the main entrance.

Stepping into the large stone building she was assaulted by the rather pretentious floor to ceiling wood paneling and ornate carvings. It was the efforts of most universities to construct their buildings to intimidate the students – she had never managed to understand how that aided in education though after years of listening to House she knew there were limits to even far even her logic could be stretched.

Cuddy rounded the corner to the Senate chambers, the sight where the university set out to create and implement rules all in the name of academia.

"Dr. Cuddy, thank you for joining us. I'm sure you're quite busy at the moment." Dean Nichols, the Dean of Students at Princeton rose from his large leather chair to shake her hand.

Cuddy recognized the others in the room as the Deans from Science, Arts and Law. Her summons from Dean Nichols had been informal – or so she had thought. But seeing her colleagues already seated challenged that likelihood. She was the youngest one in the room, a fact none of them allowed her to forget; the rest of the Deans were over the age of fifty and there was only one other woman in the mix.

That woman was Dean Coiffer, the fifty-seven year old Dean of Arts; it was known that there was no love loss between the two women. Coiffer had doubted Cuddy's ability to do her job since she was appointed and almost a decade later after countless trails in which Cuddy had more than proved her worthiness, Coiffer remained indifferent and rather quick to find fault with her work.

"A little formal don't you think David." She smiled at Dean Nichols and the others. "Things are a tad hectic currently but I employ skilled PR people and a very able and hardworking staff so I could spare the short sojourn." She sat in one of the empty leather seats and raised her hand to decline the coffee Nichols offered.

"It's unfortunate that the only press the hospital is generating lately is negative." Coiffer took a leisurely sip of her coffee.

"Christine and I have been missing you out on the course Lisa. Nobody has a short game like yours." Stephan Conners, Dean of Science jumped in to save her from Coiffer's acerbic remarks. She was friends with his wife, a professor of biology, and had often joined husband and wife on the golf course.

"Yes, we're in the midst of restructuring the hospital budget, I doubt I'll be teeing up any time soon." She shot him a grateful smile.

"Lisa, I've asked you here because we're worried about the increase in standards for medical school applicants. We're concerned that the higher standards will decrease the number of applicants and deter funding from alumni." Nichols explained.

"I appreciate your concern but I assure you, it's unwarranted. The decision to raise standards was not one I made lightly. But last year's applicants topped 15,000 for only 400 spots and seeing as I don't have the funding to increase the size of the program I chose to bump the cut off margin up to an overall score of 34 on the MCATs. In spite of the new standards we received over 12,000 applications." Her response was met with stoicism. "It will also go a long way in reaffirming the elite standing of the University as a whole.

The silence in the grand office was deafening.

"Was that all?" Cuddy ventured.

"There was one further matter we wished to discuss with you." Dean Rothall from law – a pompous old man on the cusp of senility but refusing to retire – spoke up.

"Well please don't keep me in suspense," she deadpanned, not appreciating the surprise attack they had sprung on her. The dry comment lit a smile on Conners' lips and a frown on Coiffer's.

"This Dr. House, he has tenure but his contributions to the academic world ceased over six years ago. He hasn't published or even taught since." Rothall made a strangled noise as he cleared the smoker's flem from his throat.

"Dr. House is my Chief of Diagnostics and has three doctors working under him who publish as terms of their fellowships; as their superior he signs off on the articles and his name is attached as their supervisor." She unclasped her hands and placed them on either arm of her chair, preparing for a fight – the battleground once more being Greg House.

"Every other person with tenure has responsibilities to this University and while Dr. House's name brings notoriety, it won't last unless he continues to publish as every other person at this school is meant to."

"Dr. House already contributes hours to the clinic at the hospital. The medical school cannot be run as the law school is, it's just not feasible. We deal with hundreds of patients a day, how many cases do your professors handle during the semester?" She challenged Rothall.

"That is true; however, Dr. House only averages 1.3 patients a week." Rothall shot back. "Surely he can manage to write a paper of two in between his busy schedule." Rothall smirked as sarcasm dripped from his pale lips.

"You all felt strongly enough about this that you called a meeting." Cuddy allowed the disbelief to filter into the words.

"In the interest of being fair we had to." Nichols attempted to placate her.

"Oh right." Cuddy snapped her fingers in a gregarious show of sudden understanding. "I forgot that we set out to demonstrate the fairness of life. While I'm at it should I tell the students that all their starting salaries'll be eighty thousand dollars?"

"There's no need to lose your temper Lisa." Rothall ran a hand over his tie and large stomach.

"I beg to differ. I don't appreciate my colleagues treating me as though I can't run my own program. I've been doing this job longer than you've been doing yours David." She pointed to the older man. "And I'm not losing my temper – you'll know when that's happened."

"Unfortunately people in our departments have gotten wind of your unorthodox practices and are complaining to us," Conners explained.

"Tell you what then, next time someone comes to one of you to complain, send them to me. I'll have them speak to one of my nurses who works twelve hour shifts and monitors twenty patients or maybe one of my residents who at times puts in sixty hours straight on duty." She sprung from the chair, smoothing out her skirt and shouldering her purse. "Now if you'll all excuse me, I have a hospital to run." She moved toward the door.

"Lisa, we really are sorry to here about your doctor. Give them our best." Nichols stood in order to speak as she headed for the exit.

"I'll be sure to do that, though I'm sure he'll be more interested in the six years of publications he has to work on." She scowled.

"I'm sorry?" Nichols frown in confusion along side every other Dean.

"The doctor in the ICU is Dr. House. If he were here right now I know he'd thank you ever so kindly for your thoughtfulness." Her words were harsh though she was force to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at the absurdity of it all. And though she was loath to admit it, she knew House would have been very please at her display in the Senate Chambers.

**OOxxxOO**

"This is Dr. Lisa Cuddy from Princeton-Plainsboro, I'm calling about Greg; he was involved in an altercation at the hospital and injured. The surgeons feel his prognosis is good but I wanted to inform you of the situation. Please call me if you have any further questions." Cuddy went on to leave her office extension, pager and home number for House's parents to contact her. The entire message was cold and detached; exactly what one would expect from a doctor or boss but where Gregory House was concerned, she was neither of those things.

Her assistant buzzed in on her intercom to announce visitors at her door. She issued a succinct 'send them in' and turned back to the quarterly report that had been placed on her desk yesterday. Without glancing up from the financial report, she could feel the nervous energy floating off the three guests in her office.

"I know you can't be here to complain about House; though I wouldn't put it passed him to wreak havoc on this hospital from his bed – I'm sure he's dreaming about doing just that at the moment." She sighed, earning a smirk from Chase and Foreman but only stony silence from Cameron.

"We've diagnosed and begun treatment on our patient but with House out of commission…" Foreman trailed off.

"You've got no one to give you busy work and you decided to come to me." She frowned at once more being faced with the wasted talent of the three doctors standing before her. "Actually, I do need people to cover the shifts in the clinic that House is going to miss." She nodded at them. "Diagnostics will still be utilized but until another case comes in that needs to be handled by your department, you'll work your shifts in the clinic. We're also short staffed in respirology if one of you would be interested in working that department for a few weeks." She eyed each doctor carefully taking note of the angry set of Cameron's jaw and the tension both Chase and Foreman were carrying in their shoulders.

The shrill sound of the phone ringing on her desk startled the three visitors in the office and they took the moment Cuddy reached for the offending device to calm their rattled psyches.

"Dr. Cuddy" she spoke into the phone.

"Ja vielen Dank für wird zurück zu mir so schnell." _Yes, thank you for getting back to me so quickly._ Her quick succession of German prompted the other doctors to raise curious eyebrows.

"Ich habe einen Patienten, der momentan die Ketamine therapie erlebt, die Sie studiert haben." _I have a patient who is currently undergoing the Ketamine therapy you studied._

"Ich machte." _I did_. Her cryptic response went unnoticed to the others in the room as the entire conversation save a few words could not be followed.

"Ich würde schätzen, wenn Sie mir die Informationen schicken könnten. Ja, an Princeton-Plainsboro Lehrekrankenhaus…. Vielen Dank." _I would appreciate if you could send the information to me. Yes, at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital….thank you._ She ended the call and returned her attention to the doctors waiting in front of her desk.

"I'll work respirology." Foreman offered readily.

"Great." She issued a tight lipped smile and dismissed them by refocusing on the accounting statements.

Cameron remained at the doors, warring over whether to address her concerns with her superior or walk away. Her moral conscience over-ruled any feelings of self-preservation as she drew a steadying breath and stared down the Dean of Medicine.

"Why'd you do it?" She asked the other woman, who looked up in surprise at having a person still in her office.

"You're not going to be satisfied with the answer I give you." Cuddy pinched the bridge of her nose in an effort to keep a reign on her temper.

"You fight House every time he wants to use some radical treatment but yesterday you stood by and said nothing while they went ahead and risked his life. He was in pain and all he could think about was stopping it."

"I fight House when he's risking a patient's life – a patient who isn't aware of all the circumstances or simply can't understand the danger. House isn't naïve; he knew what the downsides were to the treatment." She paused, intrigued by the visual display of Cameron attempting to fortify her strength and forge ahead with her concerns. "House doesn't take kindly to those who try to save him from himself. He's more rational than you realize so that's why I abided by his wishes. It worries me that you continue to work on his team when you obviously don't trust him to make sound medical decisions."

"I don't trust that he'll make the best medical decisions for himself. Obviously you didn't either considering your behavior when he had the infarction." Cameron shot back, striking far below the proverbial belt.

"And you think he needs someone looking out for him? Making those decisions?" Cuddy placed her hands on her desk and used them as leverage to rise from her chair, her sharp blue gaze never swaying from Cameron's. "I happen to have faith that House can take care of himself – he is an adult after all. But why do I have a feeling that this has more to do with his decision to make me his medical proxy than it does his decision to try the Ketamine treatment?" Cuddy stood up straight and strode purposefully to the front of her desk. "You're a good Doctor Allison I can see that; but whatever decisions I make for him are between Greg and me. I bare the responsibility of his condition as a result of my choices, not you or anyone else, so I'd ask that you please reserve your judgment for a matter that you have a personal stake in." She stated evenly.

"Greg?" Cameron narrowed her eyes at the most powerful woman in the hospital.

"Greg." Cuddy confirmed, knowing that Cameron was fishing for further information regarding the nature of her relationship with the man; she was interested to see how far Cameron was willing to probe to satisfy her curiosity.

"So you two are…" Cameron trailed off, her hands gesturing out in front of her.

"If I were you I wouldn't finish that thought Dr. Cameron." She halted any further comment. "Now, I'm sure they could use you in the clinic." She stared the girl down, until Cameron broke eye contact and left the office properly chastised.

**OOxxxOO**

_**Inside House's Head**_

The sun was radiating high in the sky.

And he was speeding.

He wore no helmet though his eyes sported black sunglasses.

The machine hummed and vibrated under him; rubber tires sliding over the damp road with sure and true oscillations. He pressed the accelerator harder, driving the two wheels deeper into the pavement and forcing the engine to work twice as hard.

He took a hard turn to the right, leaning so far into it that his knee grazed the unforgiving ground.

The sun disappeared – gone was the fiery yellow ball and the black of night fell around him, lit only by the street lights at every few meters. When the sun vanished it had taken his shades with it, leaving his wide blue eyes to narrow on the path ahead.

Before he had time to wonder at the day's disappearance, long slim legs were encasing his own thicker ones and gentle hands were sliding around his body, palming his chest lightly. His passenger was choosing to steady herself on the bike by gripping him with her thighs while her nimble fingers toyed with his t-shirt beneath his leather jacket.

"I like a guy who knows how to go fast."

A slow grin settled over House's face as he luxuriated in the attention Carmen Electra was bestowing upon him. With no pain anywhere on his body, he fed the motorcycle engine more gas and soared down the empty street.

Carmen's toned legs left his sides and rose up to wrap tightly around his middle. The heels of her black stilettos crossed and rested at his groin.

"So, where would you like me to take you?" He uttered seductively, not bothering to notice that at his traveling speed it was illogical to think Carmen would be able to hear anything he said.

"To the clinic so you can work." The response was not expected but the real shock came from the sudden change in the voice at his ear. No longer was Carmen Electra wrapped tightly to his back as they sped through the deserted city, though someone still was.

"Cuddy!" he shouted. "What the hell are you doing here?" He chanced a look at her behind him despite having to control the bike at the breakneck speed it was moving.

"How the hell should I know." The annoyance was clearly discernable, as her gravelly lilt sent a tremor through his traitorous body.

"We're going so fast everything's blurry" she complained, her hands gripping his stomach with more force and her thighs tensing around his hips where Carmen had left them. "You should slow down; neither of us are even wearing helmets" she warned.

House grunted, "Is it your mission in life to be a killjoy?"

"You've got two extra passengers – could you please drive more carefully." She clucked at him in the tone she reserved for the hospital staff.

"Two?" he frowned, taking his eyes off the road once more. He was stunned when he found that Cuddy's arms had left his waist because they were now holding an infant.

"Jesus! Where the hell did the baby come from!" The bike continued to race at unfathomable speed.

"Out of my vagina." She shot dryly. "And even though he was technically conceived by immaculate conception I didn't name him Jesus."

"What'd you name him then?" He couldn't see the child but knew the kid was glaring at him.

"Steve McQueen." Cuddy replied.

A lazy smile formed on House's lips at Cuddy's answer. "Awesome."

Suddenly House was no longer on his bike and Cuddy was standing next to him on the barren street. Though he could still hear his bike's engine running.

"Who's on my bike?" He asked her.

"Steve McQueen." She shrugged.

His gaze shifted back to the road and though he knew the bike to be moving quickly, he could clearly see Cuddy's infant son driving the vehicle.

"Told you genes matter. There's no way your kid'll be picked on at the school now." He watched the baby pop a wheelie. Then there was a sound of another motor burning up the otherwise deserted road.

"Who's that?" He asked Cuddy as a second bike came into view.

"That's the monkey." Cuddy nodded her head.

"The monkey? What's he doing here?"

"He's racing Steve McQueen." Cuddy's infant son was no longer driving the bike but instead the bike was being driven by his rat.

"But he doesn't have his license." House pointed to the monkey who was neck and neck with the rat in the street race.

The bikes disappeared from sight though the street still passed by in a steam of bright colors.

"Who won?" He turned to ask Cuddy, only she was no longer standing beside him. "Cuddy?" He called to her.

"She's not here."

"Wilson?" House shot blue eyes at his best friend and saw the man sitting on a soft fluffy cloud. Looking down at himself he saw his seat was of similar precipitous material.

"I'm not Wilson." He intoned.

"You look like Wilson; you sound like Wilson, so you must be…" House struck a wide eyed stare at him, waiting for an answer.

"You know who I am." Wilson said.

"I don't believe in you so you can't be God."

"Yeah well I don't believe in Buddha but I still go out for drinks with him." Wilson folded her arms across his chest.

"Okay, let's say for the sake of argument that you are God; what am I doing here?"

"Well, most people want to ask me some profound question like what's the meaning of life? Or what came first: the chicken or the egg? Or maybe how Tupac keeps putting out new albums even though he's dead?"

"Oh that's a good one – who asked that?" House pointed at him.

"Snoop Dogg. Apparently there's a west coast, east coast rivalry."

"If you're God shouldn't you know about it?" House raised an eyebrow.

"Don't have time – between natural disasters and catching my stories every afternoon I'm a very busy deity. Although I do make time for the music award shows – I always get shout outs." Wilson leaned closer in order to issue a stage whisper. "But between you and me, Allah's the musical one of the group."

"Taking credit for other's people's work? That isn't very God-like." House countered.

"Meh," he shrugged "I figure I get blamed for plenty of things that aren't my doing so it all evens out." Wilson pursed his lips and considered the man on the cloud across from him. "So what questions do you have?"

"Do I have limit – like three wishes and then you disappear?"

"You have until I get bored with you or General Hospital starts, whichever comes first."

"Well gee, if I knew I was going to get a one on one with the Almighty I would've prepared something." House said facetiously.

"If you're not going to ask me anything, I'll ask you something" Wilson said. "What was with the baby on the motorcycle?…Not that it wasn't hilarious."

"It was Cuddy's kid" House replied.

"Cuddy….Lisa Cuddy?" Wilson's brow furrowed. "She doesn't have a kid. I should know, I make a point to be at every conception I can – it's better than General Hospital." He smirked.

"Who knew God was a perv." House rolled his eyes.

"You're just jealous."

"I prefer real sex to a floor show of other people." House shot back.

"It's not my fault most people call out to me while they're doing the nasty" Wilson snickered. "Real sex….does that include undressing subordinates with machinery or having your boss wrapped around you on your little toy?"

"It's not a little toy and I was with Carmen Electra until Cuddy interrupted." House pouted.

"But you wanted her to interrupt." God argued through Wilson.

"Now why would I want to do a thing like that?" House crossed his arms

"Because at the end of the day the only person you can actually picture yourself with is Lisa. I mean, come on your sexual thoughts about Cameron are so impersonal and detached that you'd only touch her with a mechanical arm." Wilson exclaimed.

"Wait a minute, are you God or Freud?" House raised a sardonic eyebrow.

"Freud!" Wilson laughed. "That dude had to have smoked some crazy stuff to come up with his theories." Wilson reclined on his cloud and House followed suit. "Why don't you just tell her?"

"Tell who, what?" House tucked his hands under his head.

"Tell Lisa that you'll be her kid's father." Wilson focused his eyes up; House copied him and found the sky above a veritable kaleidoscope of colors and shapes.

"Now why'd you have to go and say that?" House huffed.

"You were the one thinking it. And now you're thinking about her ass…nice." Wilson smiled at the image.

"Hey, get your own girl!" House protested.

"Oh, so now she's your girl. But yet you won't offer to be her _baby daddy_." Wilson scoffed.

"What's with the street lingo?" House avoided God's insights, focusing instead on his language.

"I'm down with hip hop and rap; I told you they give me shout outs at the award shows." Wilson chuckled. "But I see you're avoiding the issue at hand."

"I don't want a kid." House stated simply.

"Sure you do. I should know - I programmed it into you." Wilson's smug response was met with a harsh glare from House.

"Cuddy and I could never make a relationship work, even if it's only a parental one." House argued.

"Sure you can."

"How would you know?" House snorted and Wilson raised his head from the cloud with a knowing look. "Right, I forgot….you're God."

"Just think about it. I have it on good authority that any kids you and Lisa have would be really cool." Wilson informed him.

"How cool?" House asked with intrigue.

"Cooler than Steve McQueen." Wilson replied.

"No one's cooler than Steve McQueen." House was unconvinced.

"No one is….yet." Wilson gave him a cryptic gaze. "Enough with the questions for now" Wilson relaxed back into his cloud "let's just enjoy the show."

"What show?" House frowned until the prisms dancing overhead made room for the figures of Cameron, Cuddy and Carmen Electra as they moved and gyrated while removing their clothes.

"I thought you said any sexual attraction I had for Cameron was impersonal." House's eyes followed the women's movements closely.

"It is. She's here for me." Wilson smiled.

"And Cuddy's here for me….so what about Carmen?"

"Why does it matter why she's here – she's Carmen Electra!" Wilson argued.

House nodded his agreement and sat back to watch the show.

_**TBC**_

Please R&R if you get the chance.


	4. Chapter 4

See first post for disclaimer.

Thank you for the reviews and for I apologize for taking so long to get this part finishedJust have to get a few things off my chest before I continue lol….

1) I can't for the life of me figure out why the hell Cuddy is doing IVF! It hasn't been mentioned that she has fertility problems and considering she is only just beginning the process of looking for a donor I assume she hasn't been trying for a while – so why IVF? It's more expensive and invasive than artificial insemination. The only other reason I can foresee is if she has a genetic deficiency that she wants spliced from her half of the genetic equation (which is even more money yet….over $100,000 for a specialist in New York City) but once again, the writers of the show haven't said boo about such…so I am going with their IVF storyline (with no basis) because it's the path of least resistance. Just needed to rant about that a little bit…ahhh all done.

2 Ketamine (aka drug that makes me want to bang my head against the brick wall that is this story) The therapy mentioned in 'House' and subsequently this fic was designed for those suffering from chronic RSD or Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy – I have had three bouts myself brought on by various injuries but they weren't chronic – the treatment occurs over approx. 10 days (for the purpose of fictionworld I have shorten the duration) and when House would have been given the Ketamine he would have also been given Midazolam to keep him in deep sedation while the Ketamine dosage was increase over 5 days then weaned. I know it's stupid but I hate changing medical facts to suit my story needs and cause I'm doing it here I felt strangely compelled to explain the factual omissions….either that or I'm loosing my mind after a week of studying and it being 4 in the morning lol.

** OOxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxOO**

**Part 4**

Cuddy's eye traced the shapes of the letters on the page: the most recent billings from Cardiology, then sighed. Her head lifted to stare out the glass doors of her office as her lungs drew in a gust of air. Flitting over the seating area, bookshelves and guest chairs, blue orbs finally came to rest on the screen of her computer. A few key strokes would bring up the latest updates on House's file but she had already checked the system that morning – surely she could stand to wait until mid afternoon before checking up on his status again.

She was worried.

And it pissed her off.

House was still within the relative 'safe zone' of his disassociate unconsciousness but as the clock counted down below the twenty-four hour mark her anxiety grew. The man had her on edge even from his hospital bed.

Turning in her chair, she hit a succession of keys and caused the computer screen to change. Deciding to air on the side of caution, she ordered a PET scan for House in three hours time. Her concern had not abated after reading through the notes from the lab in Germany; having any negative test results laid out in front of her in all their horrifying glory had served to cast a vein of fear through her.

Her office was beginning to feel claustrophobic; she decided a walk through the clinic would aid in calming her down and allowing her to refocus her thoughts. She took a few files that had to be dropped off at the clinic admissions desk as a guise to get out of the office.

"Hey, I stopped by your office this morning and your assistant said you were in a meeting on campus." Wilson appeared by her elbow at the clinic desk.

Cuddy snorted, "Nichols ambushed me with the other departmental Deans. They've had complaints that members of my staff aren't pulling their weight for the University. Or should I say member – they only made reference to one person." She pursed her lips and looked up at him knowingly.

"House," he drew out.

"Who else?" She bit out with blatant ire.

"Speaking of House…how long do we wait before we start to worry about the effects of the Ketamine?" Wilson had no idea how ironic the question was – Cuddy had been living with the worry since she had given the order to have him anesthetized with it.

"I just ordered a PET scan. I want to see how severely the drug is acting on his brain." With no one else in the hospital versed in the experimental treatment, Cuddy had been monitoring his progress to the best of her own ability.

"Foreman's the neurologist; you should have him with you for the PET," Wilson said gently.

"I was already planning on it." She nodded, turning away from him.

"Do you really think this is going to work?" He asked suddenly

Cuddy lifted her eyes to his, contemplating his bold question. "I hope it does." It was the only answer she could give him – the only answer she was willing her lips to speak.

On the other side of the clinic she saw Chase conversing with a woman who had a tight grasp on her son's hand, to keep him from running off. The hand his mother did not have in her grasp was bound in a cast but despite the injury the boy smiled.

"Dr. Cuddy." Wilson raised the volume of his voice.

"What?" She frowned at the loud noise in her ear.

"I asked what was going on between you and House before all of this happened." He said for the second time, though Cuddy was hearing it for the first.

"Aside from me trying to rein him in on a daily basis, nothing. Why?" Her gaze narrowed at the oncologist.

"Something's happened. Something that has you playing nice and House preoccupied. In recent weeks I swear I've seen him looking actually thoughtful." Wilson paused as a fleeting idea passed through his brain. "My God, you slept with him." He had the decency to lean in and whisper the words so as to keep the nurses and clinic doctors from hearing.

"No!" Cuddy scowled vehemently. "I didn't sleep with him." She glanced around the immediate area, hoping no one had overheard their quiet conversation and once more her eyes were drawn to the mother and child Chase was addressing. The little boy had light brown hair with a slight kink at the ends, and stunning blue eyes that peeked out from behind long lashes. Without intending to her thoughts strayed to what her child would look like; with House as her donor it would be very like that the child would have blue eyes.

A small movement from the little boy caught her attention. The fingers on his cast hand flapped an irregular rhythm and his tongue thrust up and out against his top teeth and lips. Wilson was still speaking to her when she suddenly interrupted him and moved toward the woman and boy.

"Excuse me." She told him distractedly.

"Dr. Chase." She nodded to the doctor and looked pointedly at the woman and her son

"Dr. Cuddy," he greeted. "This is Mrs. Lords and her son Patrick." He added a high inflection when introducing the boy. "Mrs. Lords, this is our Dean of Medicine, Dr. Cuddy."

"Pleasure to meet you." Cuddy shook the woman's hand.

"Is there something wrong?" The mother asked with a tilt to her head.

"May I?" Cuddy indicated the chart in Chase's hand which he promptly passed to her.

"He was just here to have his cast changed and his arm looked at; the break is healing well," Chase expounded, not sure why Cuddy had chosen to look over his shoulder on the case.

"How did he break his arm?" Cuddy asked the mother.

"He fell on our outdoor steps. There are only three of them but I guess he was too preoccupied with his game to notice."

"He's been into the ER twice before for breaks. Did they happen in a similar way?" Cuddy lifted a page on the file.

"I don't beat my son! When we came in here for the initial cast child services was notified. They didn't find anything because I don't hit my son." Mrs. Lords held her son's hand tighter and pulled him closer to her. The little boy remained silent and smiling.

"I didn't think you had," Cuddy rushed to assure the woman. "Patrick's only five and already he's hand three injures – are all of them from falling?" She tried to rid her face of tension to sooth the other woman's hostility.

"Yes," Mrs. Lords answered.

Cuddy nodded and bent to speak to the little boy, "Hi Patrick! I'm Dr. Cuddy." She smiled at him and he giggled.

"Hi." He raised the arm with the cast to wave at her, his fingers still bouncing against the fiberglass.

"That's some cast you've got. You know, blue's one of my favorite colors," she told him with lifted eyebrows.

His smiled widened, "Mm- too!" and squealed, his speech slurring together lazily.

"Mrs. Lords, has Patrick ever been tested by a psychometrist?" Cuddy asked gently.

The woman glanced briefly at her son then back at Cuddy. "No."

"If you don't mind I'd like to admit Patrick for a few tests and a consult." She remained vague in her explanation so as not to startle the mother.

"If you think that's necessary," Mrs. Lords nodded her agreement.

Cuddy turned around and called to a nurse at the desk. "Dana, would you admit Patrick Lords and have he and his mother taken upstairs please." Cuddy passed the two off on the nurse.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but what was that about?" Chase inquired with confusion.

"There's something wrong with him and it has nothing to do with his arm," Cuddy answered.

"What is it?" Chase's forehead creased.

"That's what the tests are for Dr. Chase." Cuddy patted him on the shoulder and moved back toward her office.

"Interesting." Wilson caught up with her just before she went into her office.

"Is this the part where I ask you what you're talking about?" She pursed her lips and tilted her head.

"Other than you actually being kind to the woman and her son I would say that bordered on something very House-like." The corner of Wilson's mouth jerked upward.

"If by House-like, you mean I noticed a medical problem with the patient and I'm looking to make a diagnosis, then yes. We're doctors – that's what we do." She widened her eyes dramatically.

"Uh-hum," Wilson hummed. "There's something going on with you." He was surprised when she didn't refute his statement. "I'm here if you need to talk."

Cuddy's shoulders drooped and she bowed her head. "Thank you." She pushed through the doors and called over her shoulder to him. "Don't forget about the alumni golf tournament in two weeks; everyone on the board is expected to be there."

**OOxxxxOO**

"What are we looking for?" Foreman sat behind the glass, shifting his gaze between Cuddy and the multicolored image of the brain on the computer screen.

"Anything unusual," she sighed.

"This is House's brain – everything's unusual," Foreman quipped.

"I want to check the activity in the prefrontal cortex and hippocampus. I'd like to avoid burning out the brain of one of my best doctors," she responded dryly.

"You know how many people would pay to see a PET image of House's brain - we should have sold tickets." He shook his head, no sign of a smile on his face. It was the truth, no matter what poor taste it was in.

The image on the screen shifted as new areas were highlighted and appeared in greater detail. Foreman kept his eyes on the hazy picture and softened his voice. "About the CDC autopsy…" he began.

"Don't," Cuddy stopped him, "you were right." She sent him a sidelong glance while maintaining her view on the screen.

"You were doing your job." Foreman argued for her.

"Which is why I can't apologize for my actions," she closed her eyes at the memory of their exchange while Foreman had been in quarantine. "I have a job to do and that meant making a decision that I never wanted to make."

Whether she intended it or not, Foreman could hear the regret in her tone and the apology she felt she couldn't make aloud. He kept his dark gaze on her as she glanced up, over the panel and into the testing room ahead.

"House once said that I see how the world is and how it could be. He was right you know. There are no rewards with this job." There was a sharp cut of sardonic laughter from her then it tapered out. "The pay's not bad but I could be making the same or better as head of my own department at a private hospital; the hours suck; I have to deal with students, professors, doctors, nurses, benefactors and House. And the reason I've been able to get up every morning for seven years, come into work and do my job is because I could see how things could be," she paused. "The problem is, that image gets blurred more each day and all I'm left with is a crappy job, angry people at my door and the explicit understanding that the state of the world will never be as it should."

Foreman was saved from having to respond when Chase entered the test lab with a file in hand. His face was impassive for a moment as he peered through the glass at the figure of his unconscious boss on a gurney and wired to a machine.

"The results are back on the EEG for the kid from the clinic." Chase tapped the file in his hands.

"Patrick," Cuddy said offhandedly.

"Yeah…" Chase drew out, surprised at her pension for details. "The EEG was abnormal. There was large amplification of slow waves." He handed the file over.

"Balance disorder, ataxia of gait, delayed motor skills development." She read from the report.

"But what's the underlying condition?" Chase asked. It was apparent he was perplexed at the diagnosis and how Cuddy had known exactly what consults and tests to schedule.

"We'll have to do a genetic test to confirm it, but based on the symptoms I'd say Angelman." Cuddy handed the file back to him.

"Angelman? That's a pretty rare genetic disorder." Foreman raised his eyebrows.

"Patrick has all the markers, from the hand flapping to the swallowing problems and movement disorders. Schedule a genetic test and refer the family to genetic counseling." She told Chase, who remained where he stood, staring at her. "What?" Her forehead creased in annoyance.

"Nothing, it's just not as dramatic as when House makes a diagnosis of some rare condition." Chase shrugged.

"I can insult you if it'll make you feel better or hijack a patient and assault them in an elevator." Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"I'll go talk to the mother," Chase muttered and scurried from the testing room.

"There were still people at Hopkins when I went who had been there when House was at Medical School. I remember hearing them talk about the new Dean of Medicine at Princeton and how one of her first orders of business was to hire House," Foreman recalled. He looked her in the eye, "Most of them thought you had no idea what you were getting in for and the rest of them thought you were as crazy as House."

Cuddy let out a low chuckle. "And after two years here what's your opinion?" She asked.

"I think you knew exactly what you were getting into – so you're probably a little crazy." Forman smirked at her, telling her without words that he held no ill will.

Cuddy's eyes darkened when they caught on the image the screen was showing. "There, look at the prefrontal cortex – medial edge – and the hippocampus, they're both lit up."

"That's a whole lot of activity in that region. The sooner the affects of the Ketamine wear off, the better; if the activity stays this high he could have serious damage." Foreman assessed the blue, yellow and red image.

"We could risk compromising the treatment by bringing him out of the chemical coma." Cuddy voiced her thoughts aloud and sighed. "I'll give him until the end of the day and if he hasn't showed signs of returning consciousness, I'll administer the SRI myself."

"By the activity in the lateral prefrontal cortex, I'd guess he was having a positive emotional response to whatever hallucination he's experiencing – at least he's having a good time," Foreman quipped.

"He's likely imagining the Lakers Girls performing a private show." Cuddy stood up and moved to the phone on the wall to call for porters to move House back to his room.

"He'll be fine. House is too much of a bastard for any of this to affect him." Foreman awkwardly assured his boss. He liked Cuddy. She was a straight-shooter who wasn't afraid to tell it like it was – there wasn't any pretense with her – and after the fiasco with Vogler the previous year she had proven she was loyal.

**OOxxxxOO**

Cuddy was quiet as the nurse puttered around her. Her eyes rested on the large picture window that served as a wall for one side of the upscale building. She stared at the tiny leaves of a newly blossomed cherry tree and attempted to keep her eyes off the young woman working around her semi-reclined figure.

She hated the rooms at the fertility clinic. They were a soft green with cream curtains and elegant pieces of furniture and cabinetry in dark wood. It was meant to appear relaxing as a high end hotel rather than a medical facility….it was ridicules. She wasn't about to lose track of her reasons for sitting in the dressed up hospital bed on the third floor of some office building down the road from her own hospital and she doubted any other woman who traipsed through the office doors was quick to forget either.

"Lisa, could I get your arm for a moment?" The young nurse smiled at her. "I'm just going to get your IV started. A little prick is all you'll feel," she placated.

Lisa.

That was what they called her. Not Cuddy nor Dr. Cuddy – none of them were even aware she possessed an MD – she was Lisa at the fertility clinic. Part of her loved the few moments of anonymity while another part of her was on the verge of grabbing the IV line from the nurse's inexperienced fingers and shoving it in the vein herself. After the woman's second failed attempt to find the vein the latter option was looking attractive. On the third go the nurse managed to catch the vein and taped the line down.

"There we are." She smiled and lifted two syringes to be injected into the bag of saline dripping into Lisa's arm.

"No tranquilizer." Cuddy shook her head.

"It's only mild. It'll help you relax for the procedure." She assured the patient.

"I have to return to work after I'm through here, so no tranquilizer," Cuddy insisted, staring the young nurse down with a practiced glare until she acquiesced.

A keen blue eye watched as the nurse pulled the lid from the remaining syringe; as she depressed the plunger the saline was invaded by a stream of transparent antibiotic.

"Alright, you're all set. It should take just under an hour for the bag to run dry and we can start the procedure." The nurse pointed to the wall to the left of the bed. "Press the call button if you need anything or feel anything unusual."

Cuddy nodded her thanks and waited for the nurse to leave the over decorated room before rolling her eyes.

Thirty-six hours prior Cuddy had moved into the final stage of oocyte preparation. Thirty-six hours prior she had been injected with Human Chorionic Gonadotropin – the tongue twisting term sounded grave as it echoed in her mind. It was absurd the fear and anxiety most medical terms elicited in laymen and yet most in her profession enjoyed that moment of superiority that rippled through them when their patient stared up at them with confusion and awe. She pontificated that the vernacular doctors were forced to speak with was not all together different from a slang language. When part of your daily life, it loses its novelty – but then simply contemplating an injection of HCG, three letters that any woman knew well, did not give credence to the gravity of the in vitro process.

Taking a deep breath and casting a sidelong look at the IV stand, she ran through a mental list of everything she still had left to accomplish that day, cursing the two hours she was spending at the fertility clinic. Deciding that she would maximize the time she would be laid up in a hospital bed, she reached for her leather briefcase and extracted the file that had been faxed from Tuebingen, Germany earlier that morning.

"Hi Lisa, how are you feeling today?" Her doctor had entered the room – a fifty something man with white in what was left of his hair.

She wondered, not for the first time since starting the in vitro process, if she sounded as patronizing to her patients as Dr. Rheingold did at every exam. For the passed week she had endured daily appointments to monitor her follicle activity.

"I'm fine." She plastered a smile on her full lips.

"The nurse told me you didn't want the tranquilizer; I understand that you want to get back to work but I do strongly suggest taking it." He made a notation on what she assumed was her chart and checked the saline bag for the dregs of the liquid.

"I should be able to handle the discomfort with the local anesthetic and a Toradol shot." She bit her tongue at the slip up. The last thing she needed was for anyone to think to put a 'Dr.' before her name because doctor/patient confidentiality or not, everyone in her professional circle and the hospital would be privy to the fertility of her ovaries before one could say artificial insemination.

"Alright Lisa, if you're sure, we can do a Toradol shot." He nodded to her and left the room for the pain killer.

Falling back on the cream pillows, Cuddy sighed with relief. Seven minutes, an intramuscular Toradol shot and vaginal anesthetic later Dr. Rheingold was probing her with the vaginal ultrasound.

"Have you thought any more about a possible donor Lisa?"

It took a moment before Cuddy could catch her breath and answer. "Yes…but I'm still not sure whether to go the anonymous route or not," came her truthful reply.

"Was there someone you know that you had in mind to donate?" The doctor's eyes remained focused on the screen beside him.

"Not really," she lied. The truth she left unspoken was that since realizing weeks before that it was House she wanted and House whom she would never ask, she had neglected to spend any more time reflecting on potential donors.

"We include thirty days of ova storage for our patients in the original payment." He informed, to which Cuddy rolled her eyes once more. "You've got plenty of time to decide on a donor."

Despite the local and the shot of Toradol the discomfort was grating on Cuddy's nerves. Her lungs allowed for only short breaths and a fine sheen of sweat broke out on her forehead. She knew it was unlikely but for a single moment she would swear she felt the pinch of the aspiration needle on her right ovary follicle.

"Almost done Lisa; just a few more seconds," Dr. Rheingold assured.

The pain and discomfort ebbed slightly and all that was left was a dull ache and the occasional sharp pain in her lower abdomen. On cue, the nurse appeared in the room to take the sample of follicle fluid to the lab to be viewed and to ensure they retrieved viable eggs in process.

"We're all done Lisa." The doctor smiled brightly and stood. "Everything looked good; the follicles responded to the menotropins and HCG favourable. Lay back and relax for a bit before heading out. We should have the results from the lab by tomorrow on the ooctye viability and whenever you're ready to make an appointment for in vitro and implantation, give me a call." He nodded to her and reached out to shake her hand.

"Thank you." A smile flirted with the edges of her lips and Cuddy shook his hand though her mind had already left the building.

As soon as the door to her hideously elegant room was closed Cuddy was up and redressing in her work-attire. The process was tedious and frustratingly slow as her body served to remind her of the trauma it had been subjected to with every move she made. She didn't have the time to sit around and wait for the soreness to abate – she had a patient to check in on and a hospital to run.

** OOxxxxOO**

"Any idea why Cuddy's summoned us here?" Chase asked when the elevator doors to the clinic opened, revealing Foreman and Cameron.

"I haven't seen her since House's PET scan this morning and she didn't mention anything then." Foreman glanced at Cameron and saw she was equally unaware.

"Let's go find out what she wants." Cameron announced crisply. Chase and Foreman shared a look complete with raised eyebrows at the chill in Cameron's tone and the sudden harshness of her demeanor.

"You've got a case." Cuddy held up a file for them from her seated position behind her desk.

Chase flipped his head to remove the hair from his eyes and reached for the file.

"You pulled us off our other assignment so it must be an interesting case." Foreman crossed his arms over his chest.

"She's an oncology patient," Chase noted.

Folding her hands over her desk, Cuddy attempted to suppress a wince at the pain she felt between her thighs.

"Breast cancer," Cuddy related "it was caught early and she was likely headed for remission."

"What's the problem then?" Cameron's brow furrowed.

"Her body's rejecting the chemo and radiation," Cuddy answered.

"It says she was diagnosed wit Lupus at 32," Chase added "that could be causing the poor reaction to the radiation."

"But it doesn't explain the chemo," Foreman interjected. "We'll get on it." He raised an eyebrow at the subtle flicker of pain flash across Cuddy's face. "You okay?"

Cuddy gaze cut to him in surprise. "Fine." She smiled briefly. For a stretch of four excruciating seconds she could feel three sets of eyes appraising her and trying to determine whether she was in fact 'fine'. "The condition's not going to diagnose itself." She inclined her head and let a smile touch her lips; the prompt served to get the three younger doctors out of her office and off to work.

** OOxxxxOO**

_**Inside House's Head**_

House was standing in the center of the lacrosse field at Michigan State, stick in hand. But when he looked to the left he was greeted with the familiar sight of the Princeton-Plainsboro teaching hospital; although the amalgamation was clearly odd, House shrugged it off.

Taking a few steps toward the net at one end of the field, he noted in the back of his mind that the pain in his leg was non-existent and that he had full use of his thigh once again. Picking a spot on the empty net, he let loose a shot of the heavy rubber ball from the mesh and leather of his stick. He heard the crack of the ball hitting the netting before taking another shot as a ball seemed to materialize in his stick's pocket. Shot after shot rocketed from his arms, some bouncing, others ripping through the air with unimaginable speed from his hip and when he was feeling especially cocky, a few from over his shoulder.

"Give me a turn with that," a voice sounded from beside House.

Dropping his arms from the intended shot, House turned to his left and grimaced. "You again? Six billion people and you keeping hanging around me…don't be shy, you can tell me – I'm your favorite aren't I," House smirked.

God, wearing the skin of Wilson once more, raised an eyebrow at the man in jeans and a t-shirt in the middle of the lacrosse field. "Trust me, I broke the mold after you were made – then I fired all the workers – and raised the facility to the ground."

"Oh stop, you're making me blush." House put a hand to his cheek to dramatize his sarcasm.

"So are you going to give me a turn or not?" Wilson pointed to House's side.

"Knock yourself out. Who am I to deprive his Godliness?" House handed over his lacrosse stick that in the hands of God suddenly looked like a large bong. "What the hell!" he scowled as Wilson moved the bong to his lips. "You're just going to bake yourself right here on the field?"

"Would it help if I baked myself here?" With a dramatic snap of his fingers House and Wilson were standing in Cuddy's office. "I'll let you in on a little secret…" he whispered "the finger snap doesn't do anything, it just looks really cool."

"God smokes weed," House rolled his eyes "how revealing."

"You're riding the magic carpet," he gestured to the world around him "I figure I should be able to visit Puff the Magic Dragon. And as it happens I am the one who created the fine plant cannabis so I'll smoke it when I choose." He took a puff from the bong. "Actually that's not true….Buddha created the cannabis plant – I ended up giving life to the dandelion," he admitted sullenly. At House's smirk Wilson defended himself, "I was having an off day alright."

"Did you happen to be having one of those when I got shot?" House quirked an eyebrow, unable to muster anger in his current environment.

"Touche." Wilson pointed at him with the hand that was not busy holding the bong. "I figured we'd be getting around to talking about the shooting so I went ahead and pulled your file." He picked up a thick folder and made a show of opening it up. "I want to go ahead and apologize on behalf of my staff; someone screwed up – you weren't supposed to be shot by a disgruntled patient for another three years." He took another deep inhalation of the bong and hardened the line of his mouth. "Whoever messed up is going to find themselves on the graveyard shift at the Pearly Gates for the next three millennia." Wilson couldn't control his chuckles at his own pun, "get it….graveyard shift to let dead people in?"

"Yeah I got it;" House rolled his eyes "Chase could think up a better joke. So what'da I get?" He plopped himself into Cuddy's chair and lifted his feet to rest on top of the desk.

"What do you mean?" Wilson placed the bong on the round table in the office before seating himself across from House.

"Well, your guys screwed up – that's gotta be worth some kind of special treatment from The Man." House leveled him with a cocky smirk.

"You're welcome to file a formal complaint – it takes six weeks to process and then it goes to the committee but you should have your answer before your sixtieth birthday." Wilson shrugged, his attention drawn to the side of Cuddy's office where a little dark haired girl of four or five years was scaling Cuddy's bookshelf.

"Who's that?" House frowned.

"Oh, that's just The Kid." Wilson waved a hand in the girl's direction as her tiny limbs moved higher on the wooden shelves.

"Your originality stuns us lowly mortals," House responded. His frown deepened as the little girl wobbled marginally six feet off the ground. "You think maybe you should get The Kid down from there?"

"Nah, she's fine. But about this 'special treatment'… it's possible we could work something out, provided you keep the little administrative mix up hush hush." Wilson sighed and shook his head in annoyance. "Buddha already gives Allah and me enough flack for not keeping a closer eye on our peeps."

"I suppose if it's worth it I could be persuaded to keep from crying bloody_ almost_ murder." House shot another look to the bookshelves where The Kid was making her way back down to the floor. "Impressive."

"You think that's good? The Kid can already pop a wheelie on her bicycle." Wilson smiled. "And you should see her at the poker table; she's robbed Sinatra, Buddy Holly and Abe Lincoln."

"Abe Lincoln?" House utter skeptically.

"Yeah, dude's got a wicked poker face."

"But what's she doing here?" House asked.

"She rolls with me sometimes – she's the only one cool enough to get the chance. Hey Kid! Come over here." Wilson called as The Kid jumped from back to the ground. "Kid, this is House. House, this is The Kid," he introduced.

'The Kid' was small; her dark hair was pulled back into an elastic and she sported tiny green yoga pants and a light blue shirt that matched her eyes. By all accounts, she appeared like a shy soft-spoken little girl so House was unprepared when out of her pink lips emerged a very distinctive speech.

"What be 'appening brodah mon." A smile split her porcelain face.

"Serious?" House turned to stare incredulously at Wilson.

"What? Ya neva be seein a white girl from dee islands?" The Kid's eyes bore through House and her hands had become anchored at her waist.

"So what are you in for?" House addressed the little girl.

"Nutting. I be waitin'. Waitin', waitin', waitin' that's all I be doin here brodah."

"What are you waiting for?"

Wilson was the one to respond, "She's waiting to be born – well conceived really. Her would-be parents are a little slow on the uptake. But she's so much fun to have around I'm not sure I want her to go."

"I neva be meetin a suck up bigga den you mon. I tink it be time for bein born – it be too borin ere."

"Are you going to be born with the accent?" House quirked an eyebrow and played with the picture frames on the sideboard behind Cuddy's desk.

"What accent?" The Kid asked with confusion.

"House! What are you doing in my office?" Cuddy fumed from the doorway.

"Busted," House sighed.

She glared at Wilson, making a noise of annoyance, "Your bong is making a ring on my table!" She pointed at the offending item.

"Don't be lookin all soura Docta Lady. It just a table. It's alllll good." The little girl smiled and laid a gentle hand in Cuddy's.

"Cuddy meet The Kid." House made the introductions.

Wilson leaned forward in his seat and whispered conspiratorially to House, "Now's your chance. Tell her you're on board."

"On board for what?" House's forehead creased.

"Don't be obtuse. Offer up the jizz."

"Would you stop pressuring me," House ordered. "You're worse than a horny boy on prom night!"

"It fits considering you're acting like a teenage girl who's afraid I'll condemn her if she gives up the putana." Wilson sighed heavily and turned to look at the corner of the room where The Kid was demonstrating her climbing skills for Cuddy. "Do you think Cuddy would make a good mother?"

"Is that a trick question?" House dropped his legs from the desk top and glanced at the bookshelves where Cuddy was telling The Kid to be careful.

"I didn't want to have to pull out the big guns but you're forcing my hand. Cuddy will never go through with having a child unless it's yours." Wilson frowned, obviously troubled by the thought. "She doesn't realize it yet but she'll keep putting the decision of a donor off until she runs out of time."

"I can't believe you went for the guilt trip." House shook his head in disappointment. "What do you expect me to do? Jerk off into a cup, tie a bow around it and hand it to Cuddy?"

"I would hope you could be a little more creative but that's the general idea."

"Look, anyone can make a baby – a monkey could raise a baby but not everyone can do a decent job of it." House picked up a trinket Cuddy kept on the sideboard and tossed it in the air.

"Now you've gone and done it," Wilson warned.

Outside the window of the office stood the monkey with his arms crossed at his chest and glaring at House.

"You've gone and made him mad," Wilson sighed heavily.

The monkey unfolded his arms and pressed a piece of paper against the glass of the office that read: **parking lot at 5 – prepare to have your ass kicked**.

"This is just great. How am I supposed to avoid the monkey?" House complained.

"You could wake up," Cuddy suggested from beside the bookshelves.

"You might as well; The Kid and I are headed to the track anyway. She picks all the winning horses." Wilson stood from the chair. "Come on Kid," he called.

The Kid jumped off the table she was on top of and into Cuddy's arms; she gave her a quick hug then dropped to the floor and skipped to where House was seated behind the desk. "Don't be taking too long talkin' to da Docta Lady. I be waitin' long enough to be born." She kissed him on the cheek and scampered out of the office.

"So what do you think House? Time to wake up?" Cuddy smiled from across the desk at him.

The office door slammed as it opened and Wilson rushed through. "Sorry, forgot the bong. Buddah will have a fit if I lose it." He grabbed the item off the round table and disappeared out the door once more.

"If I want to avoid a confrontation with the monkey I better wake up." House pinned Cuddy with a serious eye. "Catch you on the flip side Cuddy."

And the office vanished from sight.

** OOxxxOO**

The steady beep of the heart monitor was the first annoyance his senses encountered; it was followed quickly by pain in his neck when he attempted to roll his head to one side and a fiery sensation in his gut. The next thing he experienced was the bright florescent lights shining in his eyes and the tell-tale shifting of air as the door to his room was slid open.

"House?" Wilson asked from above the bed.

"You're irritating when you're high God," House whispered through the dryness of his throat.

"House, it's Wilson." The other man shared a perturbed look with the woman on the other side of the bed.

"How are you feeling?" Cuddy asked from where she was leaning over him and checking his pupils.

"Like someone gutted me. What the hell happened?" His throat hurt from the lack of lubrication.

"You were shot," Wilson answered.

Cuddy poured a cup of water shoved a straw in it and lifted it to House's lips. "Here, this should help your throat." She leaned further towards him and held the cup as he sipped greedily. "Better?"

House blinked slowly, his eyes trained on the cleavage that Cuddy's gaping shirt was revealing as she leaned over him. Her breasts were directly in his line of view and almost touching his chin. "I'm suddenly feeling great. But I could do with some more water." He told her, doing his best to keep the smirk from his lips, though Wilson caught on and rolled his eyes.

"Sure." Cuddy moved in to allow him to take another sip and noticed where his eyes fell. She made no moved to cover the view, simply shook her head at his adolescent behaviour.

"What time is it?" House asked suddenly.

"Eight at night," Wilson supplied.

"I missed the meeting with the monkey." House sighed and sunk back into the pillows on the bed.

"What are you talking about?" Cuddy's brow furrowed.

House allowed his eyes to rest on her as she clutched the bedrail. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

_**TBC**_

Please R&R if you get the chance.

_Note: SRI Serotonin Reuptake inhibitor_


	5. Chapter 5

See first post for disclaimer.

**AN:** I'm so sorry that this was so long in the making...I've been swamped with real life and lacking my writing ability (as thouigh I actually had some to begin with lol) But thank you all. I appreciate the patience and hope that this chapter was worth the wait. The next will not take as long to put together...though I haven't actually edited this thing yet...it's late and I have to work so I figured I would just post and edit it tomorrow when I get the chance. Thanks again and hope you like it.

* * *

**Part 5**

The ball went up. Then came down. Up and down once more. Chase tossed the red and grey ball into the air and caught it; intermittently pausing to stare out the glass balcony doors of House's office. His attention was drawn over his shoulder toward Cameron's seated form when Foreman pushed through the entrance.

"I hear House woke up late last night." Foreman dropped his briefcase on the floor and slid into the chair behind the desk.

"Yeah," Cameron replied from the other end of the room.

"And you're not sitting by his bedside, holding his hand?" He teased her.

She glared at him and Chase, who had twisted in his seat to shoot her an inquiring look. "Don't be ridiculous; I'm not that pathetic." Neither man appeared convinced and Cameron pursed her lips in embarrassment. "And he fell back asleep shortly after," she conceded. Her colleagues smirked much to her displeasure. "Do we have the results back on our patient?" Cameron switched gears.

"Should we let her get away with changing the subject?" Chase joked to his right.

Foreman raised an eyebrow. "House wouldn't," he chuckled. "How's he doing anyway?"

"You suddenly care about House's welfare?" Cameron balked.

"Well sure," Foreman nodded, "his welfare is directly ties to ours. If he can't function as a doctor any longer, we're all likely out of a job." Chase apparently agreed as he shrugged and nodded along.

"That's all you're concerned about right now; whether or not you'll still have a job?" Her mouth contorted in disgust.

"Right now - yeah," Chase responded.

"Unbelievable!" She stood and gathered her files, heading for the door.

"Where're you going?" Chase called after her.

"To check on our patient. Not that either of you would care." She huffed and walked out of the room.

"She's a little prickly today," Chase noted.

"She's just mad because she wasn't there when House first woke up," Foreman informed the other man.

"I was at the police station until midnight yesterday giving my account of what happened – I don't have the patience to deal with Cameron's love sick whines today." Chase sighed and tipped his head back against the back of the chair, once more rocketing the ball into the air.

"She left before I could give her the results of the blood and urine analysis." Foreman held up the file he had picked up at the lab on his way in that morning.

"What's the verdict?" Chase kept the ball in hand anticipating Foreman's answer.

"Creatinine and potassium are elevated and the patient's complaining of loss of sensation in her hands and feet." Foreman responded.

"Her kidneys are shutting down." Chase's eyes widened. "It could be the progression of the Lupus."

"Lupus generally presents as chronic renal failure, not an acute onset – this might have more to do with progression of the cancer. We should biopsy the kidney to determine if the cancer's spread."

"According to the history she had a full body scan three weeks ago, prior to beginning to the course of treatment and there was no sign of the cancer metastasizing anywhere else." Chase rolled the ball between his two palms thoughtfully. "Chemo and radiation aside, what else could be causing renal failure?"

"We can't just discount the chemo and radiation. If there was any weakness in the kidneys, the chemo could be exploiting it. Let's do an ultrasound on the kidneys – look for any scaring or sign of past infection," Foreman reasoned.

"One of us should probably go find Cameron." Chase placed the ball back on House's desk and rose from his chair.

"I'll do the ultrasound." They both uttered simultaneously and smiled ironically at one another.

"If I find Cameron, you're buying lunch for the rest of the week." Chase pointed at his friend with seriousness.

**

* * *

**

"Dr. Lisa Cuddy," she answered the phone at her desk while scrolling down the most recent budget proposal on her computer screen.

"Dr. Cuddy, this is Blythe House returning your call." The voice on the other end caused Cuddy to falter at the pavement repairs section of the report. "I called as soon as I heard the message on the service. Surely I misunderstood that Greg had been shot." She said the words with less confidence than she hoped for.

"Unfortunately you're not mistaken Mrs. House. Greg was accosted by a former patient and shot." The simplicity with which she delivered what had the potential to be life altering made Cuddy grind her molars. "He's awake now and seems to be doing much better." She assured the woman.

Silence reined on the other end of the extension. "Mrs. House?"

"I'm sorry," the other woman blurted out, "it's just not something you expect to hear about your child – no matter how old – and especially considering Greg's career should keep him out of danger." Blythe House took a deep breath. "He's alright though?" she asked.

Cuddy was quiet a beat, thinking of the Ketamine treatment and what it could mean for the woman's only son – both good and bad. Finally she responded, "The wounds are already healing and provided he heeds medical advice he should be released in a week."

"Greg's father and I are in Dubai currently but I'm trying to book a flight out."

"Just you?" Cuddy uttered before she could properly censor herself and thought back to the flip remark House had made about not being able to stand his father.

"John's doing some consulting work here and won't be able to leave right now." Blythe spoke softly as though the matter were an open sore.

"I'll tell Greg that you're coming," Cuddy promised. "And if you call me with your flight information I'll have someone at the airport to meet your plane."

"Oh no, I couldn't impose. I'll take a cab."

"I insist. It'll be no trouble." Cuddy played with her pen and wondered why she felt it necessary to make a good impression with House's mother. "I've known your son for a long time Mrs. House, it's the least I can do for him."

"Alright dear, thank you. I'll be in touch soon."

**

* * *

**

When House woke for the second time after the shooting, it was to a sunlit room and the distant murmur of the small television in his room.

Crack

Crunch

Crunch

Crunch

Rustle – plastic folded under the force of a seeking hand.

Crack

Crunch

Crunch

Crunch

Forcing his eyes open, House blinked against the slow reverse dilation of his pupils as too much light assaulted his eyes. His left hand tightened reflexively at the static position of his limbs and he focused on the figure beside the bed.

Reclining in a chair with his feet up, Wilson reached into the chip bag for another taste of his noisy snack. From his vantage point in bed, House could see his friend's tie was askew and his lab coat was slung over the arm of the chair.

"Haven't I been tortured enough?" House groaned.

Wilson paused in his seeking effort, pulled his fingers from the bag and wiped them on a tissue that sat in his lap. "Depends who you ask." Wilson responded with a shrug and the tiniest of lifts to the corners of his lips.

"What are you doing here?" A groan emerged from House's lips when he turned his head too far to the left and pulled at the stitches in his neck.

"Watching Ellen."

"Taking an early lunch are you Jimmy." House smirked. "Who's on?"

"Carmen Electra." Wilson answered and popped another chip in his mouth. "You were shot," he said once he had finished chewing.

"Yeah, you told me that the first time I woke up….unless I was shot again between then and now; in which case I'm suing the hospital."

"I just didn't know if you'd remember the first time I told – you appeared occupied by other….inanimate objects." Wilson quirked an eyebrow.

"Hey, I'll have you know that there's nothing inanimate about Cuddy's breasts," House protested.

"The woman was checking your vitals!" Wilson argued.

"And trying to hypnotize me with her cleavage." House paused in thought. "I don't remember anything that happened."

"You don't expect me to believe that Cuddy actually hypnotized you with her breasts," Wilson drawled sardonically.

"Not that. I don't remember anything that happened after parking my bike in the lot downstairs. If it weren't for the morphine drip I would think you were making it up in an attempt at revenge for the couch wetting incident."

"Peeing on your couch was retribution enough." Wilson remained stone faced. "It's common not to remember events that immediately preceding Ketamine use."

There was silence for a beat while House contemplated Wilson's words. "She did it." His tone held something akin to awe and relief.

"You sound surprised. If you weren't sure if she'd comply, why'd you make her your proxy?" Wilson was intrigued. Generally, House accounted for every possibility and manipulated happenings until he got what he wanted. "Please tell me this wasn't your chance for retribution - putting Cuddy back in the position she was in seven years ago."

"It was about repaying a debt." House closed his eyes, fatigue from the trauma and drugs once more settling in.

"I know I'm going to regret asking this but…what debt?" Wilson dropped his feet from their resting place and swiveled to look at House directly.

"Cuddy thinks what happened with my leg was her fault and because she is the most guilt conscience woman alive, she's never let that go. If the Ketamine works then she can get out from under the guilt – she'll know that she made the decision that ultimately helped me."

"In a weird way that actually makes sense." Wilson furrowed his brow trying to find flaw with House's theory but not succeeding.

"Have you been feeding Steve?" House experimented with shifting in bed, feeling the burning ache where the bullet had pierced his abdomen.

"He's been fed every day," Wilson assured. "But we're not done talking about Cuddy." He shut off the television and eyed House meaningfully.

"Am I supposed to know what you're talking about? Because my brain's a little fuzzy right now."

"Something's up with Cuddy and whatever it is, it has something to do with you." Wilson concluded.

"And where did this great insight come from?"

"She's barely slept since you were shot from what I can tell. Hell, she's barely left the hospital."

"This surprises you?" House rolled his eyes. "Cuddy eats, breathes and sleeps her guilt complex – I got shot in her hospital, that's got to be worth a few years of sleepless nights."

"This wasn't her fault." Wilson sounded as though he were trying to convince his friend.

"I know that and you know that but Cuddy lives in administrative la-la land where a flu epidemic is her fault," House explained.

"She's been acting off since she asked me on that date," Wilson thought aloud.

"It wasn't a date," House countered reflexively.

"You never did tell me why you insisted it wasn't. It was dinner at a nice restaurant with no talk of work. I know it's been a while for you but that's generally considered a date." Wilson's mouth set into a grime line.

"And yet I'm telling you it wasn't a date."

Wilson stared at his friend far a few seconds. "Humph," he smirked.

"What?" House cracked one eye open to look at him.

"Nothing. Just wondering where this sudden jealousy came from." Wilson tried to keep the smirk from developing into a full fledged grin.

"You're my friend and I don't like Cuddy taking you out for fancy meals. She can get her own Wilson," House deadpanned.

"You know that's not what I meant."

"It was the only logical conclusion I could draw from your statement because me being jealous of your fleeting Cuddy-time is simply too ridiculous a prospect."

"And yet it's true," Wilson countered.

"Are you sure you're not the one they gave the mind-altering drug to?" House frowned.

"You've been dancing around whatever this thing is with Cuddy for years."

"First of all I don't dance; second of all there is no 'thing' with Cuddy," House groaned, his voice rasping with the effort.

"She was the only one who knew anything about the Ketamine treatment, after finding the information in your house." Wilson pointed out.

"She told you that?" House blinked.

"No, you just did. Cuddy came up with some lame story about finding the research in a journal in your office. But you would have never left something like that in your office with the potential for Cameron to find it." Wilson raised an eyebrow at his reclining friend's ability to reason the situation out. "Speaking of Cameron, she teetered on insubordination when Cuddy made the decision to give you the Ketamine therapy."

"Cameron should mind her own business," House interjected.

"Obviously. But you still haven't accounted for exactly why Cuddy was at your House." Wilson continued relentlessly.

"Startling observation doctor," House mocked.

The sliding door to House's room opened to admit Foreman and Chase sans Cameron. Chase smiled at seeing his boss awake while Foreman tried to remain impassive though he could not hide the relief in his eyes.

"Look, it's the wisemen…aren't there supposed to be three of you?" House shifted his head slowly to look at the other side of the room without provoking his injuries.

"Cameron's ultra sounding our patient," Chase responded.

"Tongue guy?" House frowned.

"He was diagnosed, treated and released. Herpies Simplex 1 lesion accompanied by bacterial infection and thank you for asking about the patient." Foreman turned to Chase. "You own me fifty." He smiled.

"You bet on how soon after I woke up I'd ask about a patient!" House's eyes widened and he turned to Wilson. "I'm so proud I think I might cry," he jested dramatically.

"Listen man, we're just happy you're alive." Foreman rested his hand on the foot of the bed. "That was definitely some heavy stuff that went down the other day."

"Did you hear that," House looked at Wilson "the big scary gun made an impact and he's from the hood – he should be used to it."

"I don't know why Cuddy's going to bother with the neurological tests, it's obvious everything's in twisted working order just like before the Ketamine therapy." Chase shook his head.

"So what's this new case? And who said you could work without me?" House pouted.

"Cuddy gave us the case. The patient has cancer so I'm assuming Dr. Wilson referred her." Foreman shrugged.

"Is this true? Are you letting others diagnose your patients now? I thought we had something special?" House fought off the heavy feeling in his legs and arms to stay awake.

"I think we need some time apart." Wilson played into the joke. "It's not me, it's you," he deadpanned.

"I think that's our cue to leave." Foreman quirked an eyebrow. "We'll catch you later."

"This new case you're working on – where's the file?" House asked.

Chase and Foreman traded looks before the former spoke, "I doubt your attending would appreciate us giving you work while you're supposed to be recovering."

"So much potential and yet you still refuse to embrace the Houseian methods completely. Who's my attending – I'd like to meet the person who has managed to instill the fear of their wrath in both of you. A wrath you apparently fear more than mine." House sunk deeper into the mattress as his IV drip finished administering a dose of Morphine.

"Dr. Cuddy's your attending and she's still scarier than you," Chase answered solemnly.

"Cuddy," House huffed, "always spoiling my fun." His eyes closed as he uttered the words.

"We should get out and let you rest." Wilson stood and moved toward the door with the other men.

"I still want that file. Wrath of Cuddy or not." House's voice trailed them as they headed for the door.

"As soon as you can keep your eyes open for more than twenty minutes the file will be yours," Foreman promised, sliding the door open and exiting the room with Chase and Wilson close behind.

"Seriously, what's the deal with House and Cuddy?" Chase turned to Wilson.

"What are you talking about?"

"Have they slept together? Are they still sleeping together?" Chase frowned. "I feel like every time they talk to or about each other they're sharing a joke that no one else gets."

"I don't know what's going on between them but I know one thing for sure, those two have never slept together." Foreman responded to Chase. "No one has that much sexual tension with someone they've…well…had sex with."

"I didn't realize work had become so boring that you spend time speculating about your superior's sex lives just to keep things interesting." Wilson pursed his lips.

"Fifty says he banged her," Chase spoke impulsively.

"Make it a hundred. There's no way House has convinced Cuddy to sleep with him yet," Foreman replied.

"I've got to go with Foreman on this one." Wilson conceded to joining in the bet. "There's something going on between them but I don't think it's also going on between the sheets."

"That's probably because they never make it to the bedroom," Chase muttered.

Chase was saved from having to comment further on his ramblings when both his and Foreman's pagers sounded.

"What is it?" Wilson eyed them.

"Our patient just coded." Foreman responded and took off for the room with Chase hot on his heels.

**

* * *

**

General Hospital had just ended when the door to House's room swooshed open and Cuddy slipped inside.

"For once your timing is impeccable," House smirked at her.

"General Hospital just end?" she asked as she stepped further into the room.

"I love that you know that, really I do." House's eyebrows bounced up and down in an effort to provoke.

"It's a hard fact to miss considering your soap's your number one reason for avoiding clinic duty."

"You're exaggerating Cuddy – getting shot had to rank higher than daytime TV."

Cuddy's eyes softened as she surveyed House's form, her expression pained and her posture slightly defeated. "How are you feeling?"

House opened his mouth with every intension of letting loose the sharp comment on the end of his tongue – but rather than the acerbic remark he intended, his answer contained an unusual breed of sincerity, "All things considered, not bad." He smirked, "The first bullet was placed strategically enough that I get to skip hospital meal time."

"Your mother called me today," Cuddy said suddenly. "She's headed home as soon as she can get a flight out."

"Why?" House frowned, playing ignorant.

"Because you were shot and almost killed and you're her son."

"How did she find out what happened?" he asked, knowing the answer but wanting to drag it out of her.

"Because I called her," Cuddy replied unapologetically.

"She didn't need to know. It's not like she can do anything about it," House sneered angrily.

"I'm your medical proxy and attending. I needed to know if there was any pertinent information concerning your medical care." She tossed the easy response at him.

"You have my medical history," House argued.

"I wanted a second source to back up what was in the file. Everybody lies you know." She raised an eyebrow of superiority at him.

"Quoting me to win an argument with….me. Nice." House closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. "Isn't it rather unethical for you to be both proxy and attending Dr. Cuddy?" House said with mock reproach.

Cuddy let a small smile light her lips. "It wouldn't be the only questionable decision I've made in the past few days."

"Thank you for that." House's gaze told her what he was implying.

"We don't know if it's worked yet. You can thank me then." She shrugged, dropping her eyes from his piercing stare.

"It'll work," House assured her, his heavy tone telling her that he truly believed that.

"Side-effects?" Cuddy sat on the edge of the bed as the chair was on the other side of House.

"Pretty sure all my neurons are firing properly – no sudden widening of my synaptic gap. And I can still guess the General Hospital story line a month in advance." His eyes widened as he detailed his state of mind. "I think something might be wrong with my eyes though… I know you're Cuddy but I can't seem to see any cleavage." He nodded to her scooped neck top that covered her breasts entirely.

"Test are scheduled for five days from now, though I doubt they'll show any deficits. You still act like a twelve year old trapped in an adult's body."

"Speaking of twelve year olds, you have my team working on a case. I don't play with your toys; you're not allowed to play with mine." He narrowed his eyes.

"I'm pretty sure that everything in this hospital falls into the category of my toys." Cuddy smirked.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you how to share?" House pouted.

"Didn't yours ever teach you not to provoke men with guns?" She countered.

"To be fair I didn't know he had a gun at the time of the provocation."

"I think in your case it's best to assume that any former patient who comes for a visit is carrying a gun." Cuddy leaned over to check the wound on House's neck and smiled at his pout over the lacking cleavage. "Let's see your stomach." She taped the bandage back down on his neck and gestured to his waist. "Well?" She prompted when there was no movement forthcoming from him.

"I'm currently having a pantless problem so I'll have to say no go on the second injury sight. I know it's a huge disappointment in your sexually deprived state but I just-"

"House lift up your gown," Cuddy ordered. "You can spare your innocence by keeping the bed sheets over you." She rolled her eyes. "Nice suture job," she commented on the abdominal stitching.

"Who did the surgery? Gilik?" House asked.

"Dr. Woodard. Gilik's been on sabbatical since December, why would you think it was him?" Cuddy eyed him with interest.

"No reason." House shook his head minutely so as not to aggravate the wound on his neck. "Who was my resident dealer?"

"Carroll was your anesthesiologist," Cuddy huffed. "I practically had to bend his arm to the breaking point to get him to perform the surgery using Ketamine."

"Big surprise – have you ever met an anesthesiologist who was a risk taker?" House winced slightly when Cuddy prodded the area around the wound. "Careful! It would be quicker if you just slit my throat!" He protested and she re-covered the stitching with the bandage.

"But that would take all the fun out of it." Cuddy's eyes gleamed bright.

Something flashed through House's eyes and he looked closer at Cuddy's face. "What's the date today?"

"Why? You got somewhere you have to be?" She rolled her eyes at him.

"The date," he urged again.

"The twenty-forth," was her annoyed reply.

"You had your appointment at the clinic yesterday," he reminded her.

"How could you have possibly known that?" Her brow creased.

"It was on your electronic calendar," he confided.

"No it wasn't." Cuddy balked. "And don't think for one second I'm going to let it slide that you broke into my computer AGAIN – though it shouldn't surprise me."

"Your calendar said you had brunch with Marcia but if it's the Marcia who went to Michigan with you then it would be a difficult feat to pull off unless you were planning on flying to Brazil for that brunch." Cuddy dropped her eyes to the bed linens spread out over House. He had missed his chance. His revealing hallucination had come too late. "So who's the lucky guy? Salsa dancer, salsa maker, just tell me you didn't pick Mozart loser." He felt nauseas. It came on suddenly, taunting his empty stomach as the muscles rolled. House refused to believe that the sudden urge to vomit had anything to do with the woman seated next to him; it was obviously a reaction to the medications they had him on, or perhaps the lack of food.

Numerous snippy comments floated through her mind before she settled on answering the question seriously. "The fertilization is on the back burner for now….or I suppose back freezer. I'm rethinking the merits of anonymous sperm donation." Cuddy took a deep breath and willed herself not to roll her eyes as the next words passed over her lips, "I suppose who you are does matter."

House was silent; not offering any retort or snide comment.

"Are you even listening to-"

"Shhhh," he admonished her. "I'm burning this moment into my memory – I'll pull it out every other time you refuse to admit I'm right."

"Need a match?" She drawled.

"It's nice to know that no matter what I do I'll never engender your sympathy. Makes life so much simpler for me." House winced as he shifted on the bed.

Cuddy quirked an eyebrow and replied, "Don't throw in the towel just yet. You should try castration; you never know….it may be just the thing to make my heart bleed."

"I was under the impression you already had that final surgery and changed the woo woo into a hee hee," House paused and pondered the words, "or is it the hee hee into a woo woo in your case – I always get it confused."

Fighting a smirk, Cuddy turned to the clock hanging on the far wall across from the bed. "I've got a budget meeting in twenty minutes," she sighed.

"You wouldn't want to be late; the accountants will start auditing seconds." House let his fingers graze Cuddy's palm. She moved to rise from the bed but House caught her hand and held it securely in his. "Lisa," he wanted to ensure he had her undivided attention "I don't know if it means anything….my throat and stomach are achy and sore but my leg…my leg doesn't hurt."

"Not at all?" She asked with surprise. "That could be a good sign," she nodded, unable to keep the smile from lighting her lips. "I'll stop in before I head home but right now you should sleep." She squeezed his hand and watched as his eyelids drooped over sharp blue orbs.

After Cuddy had slid the door closed, House replayed their conversational highlights in his head. He still had a chance at cracking the Cuddy egg….he chuckled to himself at the thought.

Now for a way to make the offer…..and get her to accept…..

_**TBC**_

Please R&R if you get the chance.


	6. Chapter 6

See first post for disclaimer.

**Part 6**

House's eyes fluttered open at the sound of the glass door sliding along the track; without uttering a greeting, he followed Cameron's lithe movements toward his bed. He assessed the young doctor who remained silent a foot away, looking as though she was still working out what she was trying to say.

"If you want to stare at the fish, you have to stand outside the bowl." House pointed at the glass.

"How are you feeling?" Cameron held herself tall and confident under the sharp blue scrutiny of her boss.

"Never been better," House answered causing Cameron to frown. "No really, never better – I'm on a morphine drip, I get to watch TV all day and I have a team of nurses to wait on me hand and foot."

"But you were shot," Cameron argued.

House fined surprise, "I was! I just thought Cuddy was rewarding me for all the cases I've solved."

"Can't you be serious for one second? You were shot! You could have died." Cameron tightened her fingers into fists.

"Do you not know me at all?" House rolled his eyes. "Look," he sighed, "if you came here expecting some great cathartic cry at facing death, you're not nearly as intelligent as I give you credit for."

"I don't know why I even bothered." She sighed and headed for the door.

"Cameron," House called, "how's the diagnoses going with your patient?"

"It's not going anywhere and she's deteriorating fast, renal failure's already begun." She crossed her arms over her chest, subtlety tapping the toe of her boot on the floor.

"Bring me the chart," House ordered.

"Don't you think you should be -"

"Did Webster give the word 'chart' a new meaning while I was unconscious?" House narrowed his eyes at her.

"I just wanted to come and see that you were okay." Cameron lowered her voice, adopting a wounded posture. "And Cuddy said that -"

"I know what Cuddy said, but you're in here telling me that the patient isn't getting any better nor are you any closer to a diagnosis than when they came in, which means you're looking for my medical opinion. I'm good but even I doubt I could pull off a diagnosis without the patient's symptoms."

"If you were your own patient you'd call yourself an idiot and then ask if you wanted to get better." Cameron pointed out, one hand on the sliding door's handle.

"If I were my patient I would have handed off the case by now," House snorted.

"You should get some rest." Cameron walked out of the room in a huff, flustered and more than a little frustrated.

**OOOOOxxxxxOOOOO**

"Ah my peeps have arrived." House announced as Chase, Foreman and Cameron filtered into his hospital room. "Don't look so down – I know you're all miserable about needing my expertise but you just weren't ready to fly on your own yet." House mocked them further by pouting.

"We shouldn't be bothering you – you're supposed to be resting." Cameron made no effort to hide her disapproval of the situation.

"So it's alright for him to practice medicine with a bad leg and a drug addiction but get a few stitched in the gut and it's suddenly dangerous." Chase furrowed his brow at Cameron.

"This isn't about our patient, this is about House. He doesn't need to be-"

"How about leaving me to decide what I need. I've actually gotten pretty good at it over the _decades_." He rolled his eyes. "Bring me up to speed on the patient."

"Patient was diagnoses with Lupus five years ago and more recently has been undergoing treatment for a gastrointestinal carcinoma. She's been responding poorly to both the chemo and radiation and is showing signs of renal failure."

"I didn't ask for a recap of past events – I said 'get me up to speed'." House frowned.

"She coded two hours ago; her heart was tachycardic for two minutes and she's currently experiencing complete kidney shutdown," Cameron said.

"Electro and echocardiography?" House opened the chart and scanned the first page.

"Shows some irregularity in blood flow to the left ventricle and structural damage to the chamber walls. Could be a defective valve but I think it's more likely that the cancer's spread." Foreman's dark eyes remained trained on House.

"Wilson's notes indicate there is no sign of secondary growth sights," he read from the chart.

"It's possible that the ventricular tachycardia was precipitated by the chemo and radiation – it is one of the side effects." Chase crossed his arms over his chest and set his shoulders with confidence.

"Rarely," Foreman responded.

"I like rare," House narrowed his eyes at the file. "It says here that the autoimmune tests for Lupus were inconclusive."

"Seventy to eighty percent of the time those tests are inconclusive, especially in someone so young," Cameron added.

"But what if Lupus couldn't account for all the other symptoms – suddenly you're looking at something much different than strain on the heart." House paused, flipping the page on the chart. "Do a measurement of her Creatine Kinase, CBC and ultrasound her kidneys."

"We already did a blood count." Chase pointed out.

"And I'm telling you to do another one." House moved to shake his head in mock dismay but stopped when his movement pulled at his stitches. He opened his mouth to issue a snarky comment when his brow furrowed and a slow smirk rose upon his lips. Stuck on the bottom of the chart was a post-it addressed to him in a very familiar scrawl.

'House, give the chart back to your team or I'm having the TV removed from your room.' It was signed 'The Boss Lady'.

"What are you smiling about?" Cameron asked where she and her two colleagues had paused at the door.

"Cuddy sent me a get well present." He raised his eyebrows. "Naked pictures of herself – very thoughtful of her." He smirked at Cameron's expression and Chase and Foreman's exasperated reactions. "Those tests aren't going to run themselves," House commented.

They left the room while House puzzled over the chart. His fingers rubbed at his bottom lip thoughtfully as each piece of information was filed away in his brain based on the rarity of symptoms.

**OOOOOxxxxxOOOOOO**

Dr. Wilson, do you have a moment?" Cuddy poked her head into Wilson's office.

"If this is House-related then no." Wilson raised an eyebrow at Cuddy as she stood behind the chairs in his office.

"You're not giving him enough credit; he works hard to make everything about him." Cuddy tossed out an ironic smile. "I need you to do me a favour." Wilson put his pen down to devote his attention toward his boss. "House's mother's arriving in Newark at seven – I need you to pick her up. I've got a meeting tonight I can't get out of."

"Does House know his mother's on her way here?"

"I told him." Cuddy nodded.

"I'm sure he wasn't too happy about that." Wilson leaned back in his chair and pursed his lips.

"Yeah, well he can tell her that when she gets here but I'm not telling the woman not to jump the Atlantic to see her son; although in this case I would likely advise it."

"I'll pick her up," Wilson agreed.

Cuddy made for the door until the oncologist's voice stopped her. "Maybe you can help me out with something." He smoothed down his tie and relaxed further into his seat. "I can't for the life of me figure out what it is that you have on House that's been making him so agreeable since he woke up?"

"House is not agreeable," was Cuddy's immediate response.

"More agreeable than usual," Wilson countered.

"House is merely momentarily appeased by the fact that I administrated the Ketamine; that'll last about as long as his morphine drip." Cuddy tossed her hands up into the air.

"You could have just as easily sent a car." Wilson quirked an eyebrow.

"I know but I'd prefer someone she knows picks her up rather than a stranger," she explained.

"That's very thoughtful of you." Wilson eyed her suspiciously. "And there is something going on between you and House and I will figure it out," he smirked.

"When you do, would you mind letting me in on it?" Cuddy remarked over her shoulder before heading through the open office door.

**OOOOOxxxxxOOOOO**

"A woman of your beauty can surely find someone to carry her bags."

Blythe turned on a dime when the familiar voice reached her ears. Her light cotton trousers and silk shirt billowing at the force of her spin while her short locks remained strangely unmoved atop her head.

"James Wilson, I didn't realize it would be you picking me up." Blythe drew the younger man into a hug and quickly assessed him with a motherly affection.

"Dr. Cuddy thought you would be more comfortable being picked up by someone you knew as opposed to an intern." Wilson picked up her larger bag and carry-on, leaving Blythe in charge of her purse.

"Dr. Cuddy's quite thoughtful." Blythe observed, casting a side-long glance at Wilson. "You look tired James." Her words were uttered with care and concern.

"When I became an oncologist I knew there would be loss but sometimes there are just too many defeats and too few victories – this was on of those months," he confided.

"How is Greg doing?" Blythe finally asked the question filling space between them.

"Didn't Dr. Cuddy - "

"She did. But I want to know how he's really doing. I'm aware doctors make a habit of placating family members." Wilson raised his eyebrows at his friend's mother who quickly added, "My son excluded obviously."

"Cuddy's not one to placate either; she's actually a lot like House that way."

"So he really is doing well?" Blythe hedged.

"Possibly better than he has been in a while." Wilson opened the truck of his Volvo and dropped the bags in, then opened the passenger side door for Blythe. "Having the nurses at his beck and call seems to agree with him."

"If Greg is enjoying himself it's a safe bet that the nurses aren't." Blythe smiled teasing her absent son.

"I'm assuming Dr. Cuddy didn't inform you about the experimental treatment she and Hou- Greg decided on." Wilson broached the topic as he pulled onto the freeway.

"Experimental treatment for what? I thought there was minimal damage from the shooting." As a military wife, Blythe was well verse in maintaining a calm and even stoic façade in the face of alarming news but it didn't stop her knuckles from turning white as her fingers clenched nervously.

"There was a study being done in Europe on a drug that alleviated pain for chronic suffers. Cuddy and House had been researching the possibility and attempted the procedure while he was undergoing surgery."

"Attempted?" Blythe questioned.

"He's still on low dose pain medication for the internal wounds so there's no way to determine with absolute certainty whether it's been successful of not. But as it stands so far, he's not feeling any residual pain in his leg."

"And if the procedure doesn't work?" Blythe sighed.

Wilson remained silent, knowing that her comment didn't intent to be answered. She knew what the outcome could be if the procedure failed and for the first time since departing from Dubai she was relieved that John hadn't been able to accompany her.

**OOOOOxxxxxOOOOO**

The door opened to House's room for the umpteenth time that day, causing him to scowl. "Your ineptitude stuns me truly. You've all regressed to the point of needy med students." He commented without looking up.

"I was actually looking for my son." Blythe remained at the open door, her light jacket draped over her arm and a soft smile sweeping her lips.

"Hi Mom." House delighted her with a closed mouth smile.

"How are you doing Sweetheart?" She took the few steps needed to bring her next to his bed.

"Good, all things considered." His smile vacated his face but it didn't deter Blythe from laying her hand on his arm, both to comfort him and herself. "You really didn't need to come all the way here – I'm going to be fine."

"Don't bother trying to dismiss this or me Greg. This is serious – you could have died." The lines on her aging face deepened at the thought.

House rolled his eyes, "I could die every time I step onto the street or put in an electrical device," he countered arrogantly.

"Yes well it's too late to lament coming here, so you may as well drop it." She winked at him, practicality winning out.

"I'm sure that Dad was just thrilled that you left him in Dubai alone," he grunted.

"He was worried about you as well Greg," she assured him.

"I bet he's lost plenty of sleep over it," House deadpanned.

Blythe expertly sidestepped the minefield of her son's temper and changed the subject. "How long do the doctors anticipate keeping you here?" She pulled a chair up to the bed, folding her jacket over the back and sitting down.

"Post-op gun shot wounds have a standard jail time of seven to ten days; I'm hoping to get early parole for good behaviour."

"I never thought you were one to bet on long shots."

House and Blythe turned toward the voice at the door; Cuddy was situated just inside the room with one hand on her hip and the other bracing the door frame.

"And here's the warden now- here for my nightly beating….I hope you remembered to pad the handcuffs this time." House feigned dramatic injury.

"No beatings this time." Cuddy shook her head and strode into the room. "You know what I'm here for." Her eyes narrowed at him.

"Oh Cuddy you tease you. Not in front of my mother." House played up his scandalized expression.

His comment earned a disapproving head shake from his mother which was somewhat tempered by the small smile on her lips.

"The file House." Cuddy was nonplused by his remark.

"File? What file?" He widened his eyes innocently, turning to look on his mother who stifled a laugh.

"The patient file your team's working on that Chase no doubt snuck in to you." She walked around to the far side of the bed, glaring critically at the pillows behind his head. "Up," she ordered.

House obliged, being careful of his abdominal stitches. "It's not under the pillows Sherlock. If I did have the file I would be a little more creative than that." He pointed at Cuddy and made a face at his mother.

"I'm well aware of that." She pursed her lips, reaching her hand into the pillow-case housing his pillow and the patient file. She pulled it out and held it up accusingly.

"Chase has to start keeping better track of his things – he leaves them everywhere."

"Let your team handle the case," Cuddy sighed.

House ignored her and instead turned to his mother, "Mom, have you met the Warden? Lisa Cuddy, Blythe House." He gestured from one to the other.

Cuddy turned a brilliant smile toward Blythe, the one House recognized from meetings with potential donors. She was trying to impress his mother – that was interesting.

"Mrs. House, it's a pleasure to finally meet you." Cuddy reached across the bed to shake her hand.

"It's Blythe remember dear. Thank you for arranging for James to collect me." She leaned forward in order to grasp the outstretched hand, neither paying attention to House who rolled his eyes at the pleasantries.

"It was no problem."

"What can I do for you Cuddy?" House sighed.

"I was actually coming to tell you that provided all your recent tests come back clear, you're being discharged tomorrow evening." She answered, and frowned. "Don't look so satisfied with yourself, you've successfully pissed off, annoyed or exasperated the entire floor's nursing staff in under a week."

"I'm good but I don't know if I'm that good. I've actually been annoying, exasperating and pissing off the nurses for years." He dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

"James was mentioning an experimental treatment," Blythe felt strangely intrusive as she watched the battle of wills between her son and his boss. "He didn't give me too many of the details…" she trailed off, waiting for one of them to further enlighten her. Her eyes tracked the quick look Lisa shared with Greg before he replied to her question.

"There's a drug that's proven to diminish chronic pain in people. It's still technically in the trial phase."

Cuddy finished for him, "But the results are promising."

"So does this mean your leg will no longer hurt?" Blythe shifted in her seat, eyes darting between the two doctors.

"Don't look at her - she lies to her own mother." House gestured to Cuddy.

"Eighty percent of the patients experienced the recurrence of pain but only ten percent reported it being as severe as before the treatment." Cuddy elucidated while glaring at House.

"When will you know if it's been successful?"

House opened his mouth to reply but Cuddy cut him off, "We'll be sending him home with a seven day dose of Toradol and at that point we'll reassess but considering the level of pain he was experiencing prior to the surgery; the low dose pain killer will give us some idea of the drug's effect. We've already been tapering the morphine dose significantly – are you feeling any differently?" Cuddy asked House.

"Yeah, colours aren't as vivid," was his quick response. "But my leg doesn't hurt." He finished seriously, avoiding asking about the obvious decision on Cuddy's part to give him a pain killer that had no narcotic properties.

"Good," Cuddy nodded, "I want you to begin physio right away."

"And I want the L word girls to perform a live show for me," he shot back.

Blythe raised an eyebrow as Greg and Lisa continued their argument silently. "Isn't physio necessary for full recovery of your leg Greg?" She asked offhandedly.

House opened his mouth with a knee jerk remark at the ready and shut it again when he remembered he was talking with his mother. His toned turned sullen as he admitted the truth, "Yes, but I'm not a fan of the people in the rehab clinic here." He scowled.

"Which is exactly why I've scheduled your assessment and sessions with a private clinic ten minutes from here," she answered easily.

House saw his mother smiling. "She may be well prepared and persuasive but she's still under orders from the devil."

"Greg!" His mother admonished.

"It's fine Blythe, I'm used to your son's very unique breed of humourless complaining." Cuddy tucked the folder under her arms as they crossed over her chest.

"It's late and you need to rest if you intend to make bail tomorrow. Again, it was a pleasure to meet you Blythe and feel free to call me if there's anything you need."

"She's not going to donate any money Cuddy. Go use your schmooze tactics on someone else's mother?" House's taunt followed her to the door.

"It's been nice meeting you as well Lisa – ignore Greg."

"I usually do." She winked at Blythe and exited.

"Lisa's an absolute doll Greg." Blythe smiled at House after Cuddy left the room.

"Yeah, Bride of Chucky doll maybe," he snorted.

"You do talk about her a fair bit."

"Complaining is not the same as talking," he argued.

"She's a beautiful girl," Blythe continued.

"I tell her that all the time," Greg announced, "although usually I'm more specific in the beautiful parts of her I compliment." His mother huffed at his snide remark, choosing not to remark on it.

"So are you going to tell me what happened?" She leaned forward in her chair and softened her voice slightly.

"There really isn't much to tell. One second I was working with my team in the office and the next a man walked in and wanted to know who Dr. House was. You'd be better off asking one of my team what happened after that because I don't remember a thing." He paused in thought. "Just don't ask Cameron – she'll try and get you to tell her my deepest childhood secrets."

"So just like that, a man walked into your office in the hospital and shot you? Where is the man now?" Blythe frowned and folded her hands over in her lap to keep her nails from cutting into her palm at the fists she was tempted to make.

"They tell me he was shot by security and apparently Cuddy had him removed to Princeton General for further treatment." He shrugged.

"And what's this case that you're jeopardizing your health for?" Her motherly tone had House rolling his eyes in exasperation.

"I'm not jeopardizing my health – Cuddy's melodramatic."

"I wonder who she learned that from?" Blythe quirked an eyebrow.

He ignored the comment, "None of the symptoms for the patient add up to anything; they're all independent of one another and yet I know everything is connected so it means we just haven't found what's connecting them. And if we don't find it soon the patient will die. Her heart's already failing as are her kidneys; it's only a matter of time before the rest of her internal organs begin to shutdown.

**OOOOOxxxxxOOOOO**

"You're still here?" Wilson moved up to the nursing station of the empty clinic where Cuddy was flipping through charts.

She glanced up to identify the talker then resumed her work immediately. "I'm in meetings most of tomorrow so I wanted to sign off on these chart tonight."

"Working yourself to death isn't going to change what's happened to him." Wilson frowned at his boss. She was great at her job but she didn't have anyone to tell her to slow down. He had House for that or even his wives, when they weren't speaking to him through their lawyers. Having worked with Cuddy for as long as he had, he knew when something was weighing on her and as her friend and someone who admired the way she ran the hospital, he feared the day when her thoughts and worries finally crushed her.

"I'm assuming the 'him' you're referring to is House and I'm well aware that nothing can change what's happened." She slapped her pen down on the open chart and turned irritated eyes on her friend. "And I don't know where everyone got the idea that I'm a masochist."

"You keep House around – for most that's proof enough you're a glutton for punishment," Wilson shrugged.

"It's bad enough I have to justify keeping House employed to the board and University, now I have to defend my motives to his friend." Her fatigue was catching up with her and shortening her temper but she was past the point of caring.

"House is an amazing doctor – I know that's why you keep him here. What I don't understand or perhaps simply can't comprehend is your friendship with him." Cuddy dropped her gaze at Wilson's insight.

"And you'll have me believe that you understand your friendship with him?" Cuddy went on the offensive, leery of the territory he was strolling into.

"Surprisingly yes," he replied, "I can discuss his outlandish ideas I can even go along with them because ultimately I'm not responsible for him – but you… you are."

"I respect House," Cuddy admitted, "hell sometimes I even like him but there's a reason whatever friendship we still have is stale; when push comes to shove I have to be his boss not his friend."

"That may be but there's something else." Wilson puzzled aloud. He chanced a look to his left at Cuddy and happened to catch her eye. For a brief moment she was unguarded, allowing him to see the torrent of conflict awash in blue. He was struck with a sudden insight, "You don't – I mean you couldn't possibly-"

"Don't!" Cuddy stalled the thought but was powerless to rid it from Wilson's mind completely.

"Oh my God. You do." Awe suffused his tone and his jaw unhinged marginally. 'Have you told-" Cuddy narrowed her eyes, "of course you haven't."

"Whatever you think you've stumbled upon knowing, you don't. Drop the line of thought because it can only spell disaster," she ordered.

"Well whatever you do or don't feel for House, don't let it or anything else drive you to work yourself into the ground. You deserve a break as much as the next person." Wilson dropped the issue but his expression radiated sympathy for the truth she intended to keep hidden.

"Speaking of deserving breaks, what are you still doing here?" Cuddy spun back around to finish signing off on the charts.

"I'm waiting for House's Mom. She'll need a ride to his place once she's seen he's doing okay."

"She's not staying at a hotel?" Cuddy was marginally surprised that House would be willing to share his space with his mother.

"She hasn't had time to make reservations at a hotel. I don't know what they're going to do once House is discharged. He needs a bed so he doesn't rip out his stitches but there's no way she can stay on his couch."

Cuddy didn't comment on the flush that crept up Wilson's cheeks. She wondered if it had anything to do with House's quip about Wilson wetting the bed. She had learned early on in her association with House that there was generally a grain of truth in everything he said.

"I'm sure they'll think of something. But in the mean time, why don't you get going; I'll be here for a while anyway so I can drive Blythe home," Cuddy offered.

"Are you sure?"

"It's no problem and anyway, you went to Newark to pick her up tonight already."

"Thanks. Have a good night Dr. Cuddy." Wilson nodded to her, ensuring she received the message that their conversation went no further that the two of them – even it she had admitted to nothing.

"You too Dr. Wilson." She went back to the charts, happy for the distraction from the impromptu conversation with her all too insightful head of oncology.

_**TBC**_

Please R&R if you get the chance.


End file.
